When Hodge Blackthorn saw Ginny Weasley in the Ravenclaw common room the next morning, he found himself momentarily thrown off.
He had heard the Sorting Hat announce the result with his own ears.
The Weasley family was quite well-known in the wizarding world, not just because they were considered "traitors" among the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, but also because they were distinctive in their own right. Every family member sported a head of iconic red hair, and, more notably, they were die-hard Gryffindors through and through.
So, naturally, this news was bound to spark a firestorm of chatter.
Hodge alone had spotted plenty of "insider scoops" scribbled on the common room's whiteboard. One particularly popular theory was that Ginny's appearance screamed intelligence—at least more so than most of her brothers, well, except for Percy—so it only made sense she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw.
Speaking of Percy, Hodge couldn't help but smirk. Last night, Percy had been poised to leap up and welcome his youngest sister into Gryffindor. When the Sorting Hat bellowed "Ravenclaw," he'd frozen, utterly gobsmacked, and remained in a daze until the feast ended. Hodge would bet his wand that the first thing Percy did back in his dorm was write home to explain the situation—especially with the whole flying car fiasco to contend with.
Fred and George were just as stunned. Their pre-prepared Filibuster Fireworks, hidden under their robes, didn't even get a chance to go off.
"Pretty wild, huh?" Hodge said, his eyes skimming the whiteboard. Hmm, Ravenclaw's gossip network was lagging a bit—no mention yet of the "flying car" or "cross-country adventure."
"I didn't realize the Weasleys were that famous. Seems like everyone knows about them," Ginny said slowly.
"Not always for the best reasons. It can be a hassle sometimes, like that mess at the bookshop," Hodge replied, seizing the chance to strike up a proper conversation—their first, really.
Ginny raised a delicate eyebrow.
"Who cares what those… those lowlifes think?"
"Well said," Hodge grinned, giving her a thumbs-up. "I'm mates with Harry and Ron, you know. We've been through some life-or-death stuff—different places, same kind of stakes. If you ever run into trouble, come find me. I'm pretty good at giving advice."
Ginny let out a soft "Oh," then said bluntly, "I haven't got any troubles yet."
"Don't be so sure."
"Alright, I'm all ears," Ginny said, a hint of nerves creeping into her voice.
"It's all up there," Hodge said, pointing to a corner of the whiteboard.
He didn't mention the diary. Instead, he gestured toward a neatly pinned piece of parchment, starkly different from the sloppy notes around it. It was secured with a Sticking Charm and covered in tidy handwriting, looking almost like a set of official rules.
Ginny walked over, curiosity piqued, and scanned the posted notice for first-years.
"Oh… thanks."
And that was the end of their chat. Hodge bid her a polite farewell and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, only to stumble into another scene. Dumbledore's efficiency was downright staggering. Somehow, he'd managed to inform the Weasleys overnight. By morning, their family owl had arrived.
The ancient owl delivered a red Howler.
Mrs. Weasley's booming voice echoed through the Great Hall, rattling plates and goblets.
"…STEALING THE CAR! I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY EXPELLED YOU! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU! YOU DIDN'T EVEN STOP TO THINK HOW YOUR FATHER AND I FELT WHEN WE FOUND THE CAR GONE…"
Early risers at breakfast froze, food forgotten in their mouths. Hodge glanced back to see Ron's forehead glowing redder with every word. Each sentence seemed to shrink him further into his chair. Harry, meanwhile, was completely stunned, his porridge spoon dangling in midair.
"…WE GOT DUMBLEDORE'S LETTER LAST NIGHT! YOUR FATHER WAS SO ASHAMED HE NEARLY DIED! WE RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THIS, AND YET HERE YOU ARE, NEARLY GETTING YOURSELF AND HARRY KILLED… IT'S INFURIATING! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! AND DRAGGING HARRY INTO THIS, FACING PUNISHMENT FROM THE MINISTRY! I HOPE YOU TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY AND START BEHAVING, OR WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!"
The Howler fell silent.
The red envelope burst into flames and crumbled to ash. Harry and Ron sat motionless, as if hit with a Body-Bind Curse.
A low buzz of whispers filled the Great Hall.
Hodge set down his copy of the Daily Prophet and slid over to sit beside Harry.
"First off, thanks for not ratting me out," he said, dead serious.
After a few seconds, Harry's eyes flickered, like he was coming back to life.
"It's got nothing to do with you. You even had Nyx warn us to keep it low-key. This is all on me and Ron—" Harry's voice was dry, guilt choking his words at the thought of Mr. Weasley facing an inquiry.
Hermione looked utterly shocked. She snapped her book shut with a loud thump. "You knew? On the train, when that owl flew back so fast, you weren't even surprised—you didn't even close the window!" As she spoke, Ginny slid into the seat beside her, propping her cheek on one hand, listening intently.
Hodge ignored Hermione, flipping through the newspaper with a rustle.
"According to the reports, silver lining: no one got a photo," he said.
"Fudge said the same," Harry replied.
"Speaking of Fudge," Hodge cut in, "I'm not trying to rub salt in the wound, but what's this about 'dragging Harry into Ministry punishment'? The Ministry's involved?"
Ron opened his mouth in agony but said nothing, like someone had glued his lips shut. Harry, calmer, answered, "Fudge came by last night. Oh, he's the Minister for Magic. He and Dumbledore got into a row—"
"What, he wants to throw you in Azkaban?" Ginny gasped, horrified.
Azkaban? Hodge's mind drifted for a moment.
Hermione chimed in, "It's the wizard prison."
Hodge knew that, of course, but he nodded anyway, his eyes fixed on Harry as a whirlwind of thoughts spun in his head. Was this in the original timeline? Maybe, but it was more likely a ripple effect from a chain of events.
Still, something felt off.
No matter how much Hodge had stirred things up, it shouldn't have driven Fudge to lose his senses. To put it bluntly: in the wizarding world, it was hard to say whether Harry or the Minister for Magic was more famous. The Boy Who Lived wasn't just a title—there had to be another reason.
"It's not that extreme," Hermione interjected. "You might not know, but Muggle newspapers have been reporting all sorts of mysterious incidents. I read a summary article over the summer… Anyway, Fudge thinks it's a sensitive time. Harry and Ron causing trouble now means they need to make some kind of public statement."
"What kind of statement?" Hodge asked.
Hermione hesitated. "We talked about it last night after it all went down. We think it's just an excuse from Fudge. The problem is, we can't figure out why. Fudge wants Harry and Ron to spend a day at Azkaban—supposedly just a visit to see what happens to criminals, as a warning."
Ginny let out an indignant, cat-like hiss. "How dare he?"
Hodge rubbed his nose quietly, his mind flashing back to a conversation with Tonks in Diagon Alley. A sliver of suspicion crept in. Even if this was tied to Tonks—she was a bit of a blabbermouth, maybe meaning well but messing up—it would only be the immediate cause.
The deeper motive had to lie in Fudge's shifting attitude.
Hodge's thoughts raced. His first instinct was Fudge's so-called "grand plan." Did Fudge have some ulterior motive? Just then, Professor McGonagall approached, handing out schedules to students.
When she reached Harry's side, Hodge had made up his mind. Seizing the moment, he spoke to her in an earnest tone.
"Professor McGonagall, I have something to confess…"
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