Freedom At Last

"You know. . . I don't like to be stared at right now," Quinn said to Lia, who hadn't removed her eyes off of him ever since she had seen him awake. His right ear was missing, the hair on his right had been ripped off, and a lot of the skin too had suffered significant damage— and while everything was covered with gauze Quinn didn't feel like being looked at. He couldn't even cast an illusion to look his normal self if he wanted to— the potions and runes still directed his magic towards his recovery; he didn't wish to deviate from that and extend his stay at the hospital.

Lia sat in her padded chair, leaning against the back with her legs crossed, hands resting on her elbow as she gazed at Quinn. The emotional reunion had passed, Lia had cried, and Quinn had too, but now after both had settled down, there was a tension in the room, weighing down like a heavy blanket— at least for Quinn.

"Too bad I don't care about that right now. You have no say in what I do or not," Lia said quite bluntly.

Quinn smiled bitterly. Lia was the one he hadn't seen the longest of everyone in his family. She wasn't there when he left home, and the last time he had met her then was two months— now, it had been close to a year since he had last seen her.

"I am sorry," Quinn said.

"For what?"

"For. . ." Quinn pursed his lips. "For a lot of things." There were many things he had to apologize for. For leaving without saying anything, for not making any contact in the last year— making everyone worried, worsening their fears with every Invisible Vigilante story in the paper, and now ending up here in the hospital after almost losing his life against Voldemort; it didn't help that he still had a dark curse inhabiting his body.

"Do you know what it feels like when you actually get news about your bother, and the not the Invisible Vigilante, they actually call and say the proper name. It was a moment of elation and relief; an instant of hope that you will be finally returning. . . but that was shattered when they tell that you're in the hospital in a critical condition," Lia said. "WHAT THE FUCK, QUINN!!"

Quinn flinched. He had no appropriate response for Lia. She didn't care that he had contributed to Voldemort's death; for her, it wasn't his job to do so; he had arrived in his current state because he had put his hand into a jar it didn't belong in.

"It is all over now," Quinn closed his eyes. "Voldemort's dead, and with it, so is Invisible Vigilante. I don't have any more special, absurd agenda driving me. I can now only be Quinn West; I only want to be Quinn West." He opened his eyes and gazed at his sister. "Please forgive me. All's well that ends well. I am home now."

"You think everything's well? Look at yourself!" Lia narrowed her eyes.

"I'm no longer in danger. I will walk out of here as good as new without any permanent, chronic complications."

"What about the law? You're a wanted criminal."

"Please," Quinn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I bought helped the Ministry get rid of the Dark Lord; they won't try me as the Invisible Vigilante; it will be a bad look if they do so. If the thought does arise, Dumbledore, the two-time defeater of Dark Lord, will use his new and improved influence in my favor." Dumbledore had the chance to go after Voldemort when he had the Basilisk venom inside him but had chosen to help Quinn, knowing that Voldemort would remedy his health.

"Grandfather himself wouldn't let me come into the limelight." DMLE could've gone after Quinn in his Death Eater and Snatcher hunting days, but now that he had helped in killing Voldemort, they had no real incentive to prosecute him. With George behind him, Quinn had no worries about the Ministry and the law. "Even if they for some reason did, I will leave the country and live in anonymity. I think that lifestyle suits me well. You can do my share of public work," Quinn smiled.

"Do you not recognize me fuming right now?" Lia narrowed her eyes.

Quinn chuckled. "It has been such a long time since I see you that I find it difficult to be anything than happy. I have missed you so much, Lia. So very very much," he said with a smile and eyes that could burst into tears any second.

Lia turned her face away and raised her hand to her eyes, placing her thumb and index finger on the lower eyelid as if anticipating tears. She faced Quinn again and said: "This is the last time you behave like this. I'm serious, Quinn; do something like this again, and you will live to regret it for the rest of your life."

"I won't, I promise— cross my heart," Quinn said and wanted to raise his good arm to his chest, but he still had no feeling in it.

Lia uncrossed her legs, got up from her chair, and leaned down to kiss Quinn's forehead ever so gently. It was barely a peck. She softly smiled and quietly said, "Welcome back."

"Yeah. . . I'm back."

When Lia sat back, Quinn asked, "So, how have you been? Still with. . . whatshisname?"

"Oh please," Lia rolled her eyes. "Those words would suit anyone other than you. Don't try to be sly; you remember his name— if not because he's my boyfriend, then because he's your tenant."

"You can't expect me to remember everything; I'm a busy man. That building has hundreds of plots; how am I expected to remember every single tenant?" Quinn laughed. "How's Abraham doing? I hope everything's been well."

"Quite," Lia smiled. "How about you?"

Quinn's face darkened. "I will let you know later." He had promised he would explain everything later and that 'later' was running towards him now that the war was over.

"That's not a good look. Come on now, don't be shy, tell big sis. I'm always ready to help my brother's love life," Lia winked.

"I will let you know later," Quinn repeated— there was nothing she or anyone else could do; he didn't want anyone else to interfere. Looking at Lia, Quinn could see that she was interested, so he changed the topic. "How have the others been?" The question was less of a topic-changer and much more that Quinn wanted to know before he met everyone.

"What do you expect? They have been worried sick about you; no one is happy that you made the choices you did, so expect to see anger and frustration of some kind from everyone."

Quinn pressed his lips into a thin line. When he had heard from Dumbledore that Voldemort was dead for good, he had thought all the hardship was over. But, the causal effect web he had spun had caught up to him, and the real misery was about to start. At least he had willingly taken up the hardship that came with being the Invisible Vigilante, but with the hardship to come, he wished they were never needed.

The door to the private room opened, and a young healer pocked her head inside. "Excuse me, your family has arrived. Should I send them in?"

Quinn looked to Lia. "I'm not ready for this," he said, genuinely feeling the dread.

"You bought this upon yourself." Lia turned to the young healer and nodded, "Please send them in."

Quinn groaned. He closed his eyes and wished that a sudden bout of sleep would take him away from the current situation, but he was wide awake with a body that wouldn't move below the neck.

The door opened and the young healer entered with George, Elliot, and Mr. Rosey following her. For a moment, all the worries disappeared, and he simply stared at them as they stared back at him. But then Quinn saw tears in Ms. Rosey's eyes for the first time in his fourteen years here and the least energetic look on Elliot's face— and the consequences of his actions dawned on him.

"Are you done?" George asked.

Quinn took in a deep breath. He slowly nodded.

"Good," George walked to Quinn and gently brushed his hair.

"Yeah. . ." Quinn thought that George's fingers were particularly warm.

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"I apologize for my current looks," Quinn said as he carefully adjusted his seating position on his chair, shifting in it and using his good arm to get comfortable, making sure to be careful with his growing right arm and leg. He had been sitting on his bed for far too long and was allowed to sit in a chair for a couple of hours a day.

It had been two weeks since he had woken up in St. Mungos, and a week ago, as Quinn had expected, the healers had judged the state of remission of the dark curse and signed off on regrowing his limbs and organs. They were surprised at the speed of recovery, but Quinn knew when his own magic was involved in healing, the progress would gain wings— not only because of the sheer quantity but also because his natural focus was exponentially better than an average person due to the lack of a wand in his history— his magic was vastly more reactive and agile and so had worked marvelously with the potions and the runes.

Quinn sat in front of Ivy and Daphne. Stoneheart had cleared Quinn of his restrictive visiting status where only his family could visit and allowed more visitors when his health improved and removed the immobilizing needles when the spasms had stopped with the curses' remission.

Both girls looked well; Hogwarts had been dismissed for the time being, to be resumed for a few weeks in the summer break before the seventh-year students gave their NEWTs.

They gazed at Quinn's empty sleeves under which the growing limbs sat; the sleeves were charmed not to touch the limbs and seemed full to an extent. Growing limbs from scratch wasn't a pretty sight and were better hidden away from eyes.

"I asked the healer outside, but how are you feeling?" Daphne asked, her eyes roaming at the injured side of his, the gauze that peeked out from the top of the hospital gown and the empty sleeves.

Quinn smiled reassuringly. "The healer says I'm progressing well and will be free to leave in two weeks. I think I will be out of here before that. As for how I'm feeling, except for getting fatigued by the end of the day due to the treatment, I don't feel anything else— the potions I am on take away any and all pain and discomfort. Powerful stuff. I have to be careful, though, can't move hastily because there's no pain to warn me something's wrong." He tried to look as comfortable as possible as if his injuries had never been serious. "How's Astoria doing? I hope the curse is still repressed firmly."

"She hasn't even caught a cold in the past year."

Quinn smiled, "That's good to hear." In the years he had been treating Astoria, his skill with Blood magic had improved at repressing the curse; their treatment sessions had gone from once a month to once a quarter, edging towards thrice a year.

He looked at Ivy. "I hope Harry hasn't been suffering from some strange aftereffects."

"He's suffering from insomnia," Ivy said.

Quinn hummed. "Is it because of the Horcrux or the Killing cursed?"

"Healers say there's no harmful residual in his body. The scar has also begun to heal and close up."

'Then it must be a mental problem,' Quinn thought— taking a Killing curse to the chest by your worst enemy wasn't a walk in the park, and Quinn could understand if Harry suffered some trauma due to the experience. "I recommend you take him to a mind healer if his condition doesn't improve."

Ivy nodded, and the conversation stopped moving altogether. An awkwardness lingered between the three as they looked at each other to kickstart the conversation again— but mostly it was Ivy and Daphne looking at Quinn.

He knew what they wanted to hear. Quinn sighed and leaned into his chair as he gazed at them for a moment in silence. "What I am about to say, you may not believe. It might sound like a bad attempt at a dubious excuse. But believe me when I say what I'm about to tell you is the truth. There are no two ways about it." Quinn licked his lips then uttered the words he thought he would never voice, "I have memories of a different time— of a world much like this, but different from ours— of people who we know, but strangers at the same time—" Quinn could tell confused expression on their faces— he was beating around the bush.

'Screw it,' Quinn thought— it hurt his heart, for he was about to lie again to say a truth to those he loved and those who deserved the truth.

"I was four years old when I fell from the window of my room. . ." and thus began a long tale— of his life, of the explanation for his actions, of the backdrop of who he was today. He told them how the story of a boy called Harry Potter shaped the life of a boy called Quinn West. He told them. He told them about his magical journey.

It took a while. For hours, Quinn spoke. Neither Daphne nor Ivy stopped him once; they didn't raise questions or interrupt because of how absurd his words sounded— they simply listened. Quinn studied their expressions, which showed what they didn't say. He lay bare his every secret, even the dirty ones he didn't wish to ever speak, and pushed aside the curtain to reveal who Quinn West actually was.

". . . and here I am today, sitting in front of you. Voldemort is dead, Harry Potter is alive, the Ministry stands tall, Hogwarts students didn't need to fight in a war, lives were saved, Dumbledore- a pillar of this country- is still alive, and this world stands better than the other one," Quinn said, finishing. There was a sense of tired satisfaction in his voice.

Quinn then opened the floor for questioning that he knew had been kept down for the entire time he had spoken.

Ivy got up from her chair, walked to the side table beside Quinn's bed, and poured a glass of water from the glass jug charmed to keep water at a cool temperature. She walked back and handed the glass to Quinn before sitting back down in her seat.

Quinn looked at his glass and then at Ivy. "Thank you, I didn't notice how parched I was," Quinn smiled.

"If," Ivy started, "if I were to believe your words— I want to, you even know about the Dursleys— but at the same time, you could've found that easily."

Quinn shrugged. It was true; Dursley's could be found with some effort.

"I-I just feel all of it to be so farfetched," Ivy said, a slight furrow between her brow.

"Is it?" Daphne said. "Seers exist, and they hold the ability to peer into the future. Apparently, Professor Trelawney is a seer herself. Quinn's memories could be his visions as a seer."

"But at this clarity?" Ivy argued. "He seems to know so much about so much. Trelawney speaks prophecies, and I have looked into seers, and when it comes to clarity, they only see short snippets as the clearest of visions. He has this other Harry's entire life at Hogwarts memorized as if he was actually there."

"I agree with Ivy here," Quinn said. "I don't think I'm a seer, or at least not in the traditional sense. On that day when I was four, I had gained these memories altogether, as if they were simply a part of me. However, ever since that day, I hadn't any other signs of being a seer."

The lie. He had told them the truth but had changed one thing. The 'memories' weren't his previous life experience but simply memories that appeared in his mind on that one day. That was the one lie that he was going to keep.

'I am Quinn West,' and nothing was ever going to change that— he wasn't going to let anything change that— and if he told them the whole truth, his existence would be in danger.

"Whatever may be the reason, I hold these memories," Quinn said. "But now, I wish to leave this part of me behind and continue ahead. Be free."

"Free?" Daphne asked.

Quinn nodded. "Yes, free. I have had these memories in my head ever since I could remember. They have dictated how I have lived my life in many ways— I'm sure if I look at my life through a lens, I will find that the influence of these memories is much greater than even what I think. . . . But now- now the scope of the memories have passed, I don't know any version of future, there's nothing that can influence me, and for that I am free."

He was born into the Wests, a family that had provided him the privileges to pursue anything he wanted. Even putting aside the West name, his family had been immensely supportive, providing him the freedom to do whatever he wished to do so. But in the deepest of his hearts, he had never been free— the memories chained him, directed him like an invisible hand nudging him along— he couldn't ignore them if he ever wanted to. It was as Ivy had said: they were too clear and too much.

But now with no future to see, he was—

"I am—"

Free.

"Free"

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Quinn West - MC - At the end of the road.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Even after so much, he still lies and will continue to do so.

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