Quinn came out of a hallway and patted his robes for clouds of dust to puff up around him. He sighed as he waved his hand over himself, and immediately all the dust vanished, leaving his clothes cleaner.

He looked to left and right. As he had seen in Recon, the hallways were empty. Quinn began his walk towards the Headboy Suite; he seriously wanted to hop under a shower. Heavy-duty work, even with magic, was tiring to do when one kept at it for a long time.

He stepped onto one of the secret internal passages built within the castle’s walls and stepped out onto the fourth floor. There were dozens of them throughout the castle and regularly used by Quinn to traverse through the castle.

“Ah, Mr. West,” said a voice behind Quinn’s back, “fancy seeing you here.”

«Ah . . . my hot shower— . . . . . .»

Quinn cracked his neck and turned to face the Headmaster sporting his glorious white beard and long flowing beard, his crystal blue eyes peering at him through the half-moon glasses that hung of the bridge of his long nose.

“. . . Professor Dumbledore,” said Quinn as Dumbledore walked his way to him, “this is the fourth floor, and I live in the Headboy Suite . . . so I should be the one to say— fancy seeing you here.”

“I have been known to take a walk or two clear my mind, Mr. West,” Dumbledore joined Quinn as they slowly began walking in the hallways. “And, I’m sure you of all would understand that the hallways of Hogwarts work wonders when one wants to clear their minds.”

Quinn laughed, “I’m not sure what you mean, Professor.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can confess to it now that you’re the Headboy in the final year,” chuckled Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in a playful light. “I’m sure you have your own big enough share of late-night, after curfew, strolls.”

“Who knows, Professor, maybe I did, or maybe I didn’t, ” Quinn shrugged with a smile. “And if I did, you know what they say— A secret is strongest when only known to one person.”

“Who says that?”

“Hmm? I, for one, think it’s a fantastic saying, so at least one person says it,” Quinn pointed at himself.

“That means you have secrets . . . do you, Mr. West?” asked Dumbledore.

“Who doesn’t have secrets, Headmaster?” said Quinn. “Everyone has a little or two secrets, sitting here and there.”

He heard no reply from Dumbledore, and for a second, the conversation died down into silence. Both of them had secrets of their own, a more than fair share of secrets.

“So, you’re out here on a walk to clear your mind,” Quinn said to Dumbledore. “Tell me, Professor, what are you trying to clear your head off.”

It was a casual question asked in a casual tone to continue the casual conversation between the Headmaster and Headboy as they walked. However, the intention behind it was anything but casual, and while the conversation proceeded casually, what lingered between the lines was anything but casual.

“The current times have been tough,” Dumbledore hummed. “The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have been quite active with their . . . work.”

“Ah, you mean the break-in, assaults, and building decimations,” Quinn said with a lit light bulb expression.

There had been many all sorts of criminal activities around the country, magical and non-magical kind both. However, the curious thing was that all of those various activities followed the same Modus operandi as a particular Dark Lord-following group of loyal blood supremacists— but all of them lacked one important defining part. . . . they lacked the Dark Mark from the spell Morsmordre.

The Death Eaters, in the war, were regularly known to release the Morsmordre Dark Mark into the air above their victim’s site— burning buildings, murders, ravaged businesses, beaten opposers . . . whatever heinous crime the Death Eaters did, they would leave behind the Dark Mark.

But this time around, there was nothing of that.

Dumbledore glanced at Quinn; his expression didn’t have surprise on it, “You believe the things that have been happening are Death Eater’s fault?”

The media was divided into two. One side believed that what was happening was indeed Death Eaters’ doing. But the other side believed that those blaming it on Death Eaters were trying to sow the seeds of chaos in the minds of the people.

“Of course, it’s quite clear, isn’t it?” Quinn said. “While the absence of the Dark Marks is there, but everything else is Death Eater-esque. Yes, they have done a good job of hiding their operations, and yes, I believe this is an attempt to throw the public into chaos. But the ones causing chaos aren’t the ones blaming the accidents and events on the Death Eaters. It’s the Death Eaters themselves who are actively aiming to throw people into turmoil.

It’s quite clear that Death Eaters are manipulating the media to plant doubt in the minds of people, make them think if the Dark Lord is back or not . . .”

Yes, even though the Dark Lord had shown himself in the Ministry, the only ones who had seen him were Dumbledore and select Ministry Employees. The number of people who had seen the Dark Lord was worryingly low, and it didn’t help that Fudge’s effort to deny the return had done damage, which again did more damage when he in his last days as the Minister went around saying— “Yes, You-Know-Who is back.”

“. . . the people don’t know who to believe,” continued Quinn. “The Ministry which had been adamant about refusing the Dark Lord’s return . . . now, the same Ministry was actively propagating that his return is indeed true. . . .

And from what I have read, in the war, the Dark Lord went out on the raids and assaults, with his lackeys, quite a few times . . . but now he’s nowhere to be seen— so the people who had gone through the war, those who fear him, dread his actions, are now confused, wondering why the all-powerful Dark Lord would hide himself?”

The Dark Lord’s action had been quite clever in Quinn’s eyes. After his murder attempt at Amelia Bones, he had grounded himself, shielded away from every peering eye. The Death Eaters, which had acted semi-openly before, were now working entirely in stealth— they left behind no marks that would the blame at them, and barely any witnesses were found.

This course of action only further confused the public. For why, the Dark Lord, who had been so close to killing the soon-to-be Minister, then Head of DMLE, would suddenly go into hiding. The Dark Lord had shown his might and had reached the throat of the person who had access to all the Aurors and Hit Wizards— so then why all of this sneaking behind.

It wasn’t the Dark Lord’s “style.”

The “public” were all the people.

The “public” were the Aurors, street-side stall owners, solicitors, salaried workers, Ministry employees, construction workers, the rich and the poor, the young and the old . . . everyone had doubts in their minds.

Was the Dark Lord alive, or was he dead?

Who was telling the truth, and who was threading a web of lies?

What were the facts, and what was hogwash?

The Dark Lord had launched a perfect scheme.

“There isn’t any photo evidence of Death Eaters,” said Quinn before he chuckled.

That made Dumbledore tilt his head. “What is it?” he asked.

“The failed assault on the Floor Authority Head Westen’s home,” said Quinn. “That plan was brilliantly planned, even if it did fail.’

“Ah,” Dumbledore didn’t need to ask; he instantly understood exactly why Quinn had said do, “you mean because of the trials.”

“Yes, the trials,” said Quinn, snapping his fingers. “Augustus Rookwood and Rivers Lock fled from the scene, escaping the Aurors. But they left behind their companions,” he looked at Dumbledore, “all of them dressed in Death Eater attire— Alas . . .”

Dumbledore sighed, “Alas . . . they were all previous Novellus Accionite members.”

“Yes, they were Novellus Accionite members, young people— who didn’t have the Dark Mark on their forearms . . . and Rivers Lock was there.” Quinn smiled deeply, “The narrative that came out of it, I wasn’t expecting. A lot of people ended up believing that the escaped Death Eaters from the Azkaban breakout assimilated and led the Novellus Accionites— they took in the new blood and infused it into the time-ravaged Death Eater organization.

And that they did it alone . . . that it was the escapees who were trying to use the dead Dark Lord’s image to build themselves.”

Dumbledore breathed a weary sigh. “The Dark Lord has many affluent people under his command— those who have their reaches in high places of society. They are pulling their strings from the shadows— setting people’s minds into disarray . . .

. . . But not all is bad,” Dumbledore smiled beneath his beard as well his eyes at Quinn. “Your family’s Aegis warding business is spreading through homes and businesses as if fiendfyre— especially homes of muggleborn. I have heard from Ms. Granger that a lot of muggleborns have been employing your services . . . and that it has thwarted a number of attacks, saved more lives.”

“Fiendfyre, Professor, really?” chuckled Quinn. “That’s not a positive connotation, now is it? But I like it— fiendfyre does sound apt.”

Aegis had been going quite well. It’s cheaper than goblin’s ward prices had attracted people, and the customer service had converted them into paying customers. The non-magical customers loved because the representatives understood them and didn’t come from a society so cut-off from them. While the magical customers had started buying their services because of the collaboration with DMLE.

“However, I’m impressed by another business that I have been hearing about recently,” said Dumbledore. “I don’t know if you have heard of it, but it’s known as. . . The Labyrinth.”

Quinn didn’t show any unusual reaction to the name. He kept himself calm and looked up at Dumbledore. “I have indeed heard about it, sir. Quite fascinating, I must say. Passages that would help one escape to a random place in the country— far away from their assaulters.”

“Yes, it’s fascinating. It’s clearly a take on the Vanishing Cabinets of old, and the ” Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “However, I’m curious on who is behind Labyrinth . . . their way of operation is intriguing. They send letters to people’s doors and through your family’s MagiFax. I have read a version of those letters— they simply state their services, to the point and bluntly. And when you pay, they send you the door . . . which opens up to a deserted place somewhere in the country.”

“. . .That made the people spread the news through word of mouth,” Quinn continued from Dumbledore. “Soon, the letters changed, and people could order for other people . . . and then it doesn’t matter if you have the letter or not, people pay and get their door.”

There wasn’t a single person associated with Labyrinth. No one knew where the letters came from or who dropped off the doors. Only instructions on how to install and customize the door in their homes. When it was done, the doors worked, and people had a way to escape.

“Who do you think is behind Labyrinth, Mr. West,” asked Dumbledore.

“I don’t know, Professor,” said Quinn as they reached the Headboy’s Suite. “Whoever it is clearly doesn’t want to be known— I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but currently, from what I have seen the Labyrinth do, I can only say that they’re doing one heck of a job.

Now, Professor, I would like to take my leave. I enjoyed this little talk of ours,” he said.

“Of course, Mr. West,” said Dumbledore and gestured for Quinn to enter his room. “I too enjoyed this talk of ours,” he beamed, “it did clear my mind of something.”

‘Do you mean the Horcruxes?’ thought Quinn.

«Because I’m way ahead of you on that.»

‘Oh boy, that synced in so smooth,’ Quinn shivered a little internally.

“Glad I could be helpful,” smiled Quinn.

The two players on the field parted without revealing their intentions to each other.

.

-*-*-*-*-*-

.

Quinn West – MC – I mean . . . I know I’m amazing.

Albus Dumbledore – Headmaster – Busy with a hunt of his own . . . it’s not going that well.