October arrived, and with it came a sharp drop in temperature. A chilly air permeated the classrooms and corridors, leaving many students sniffling and sluggish. On the advice of their professors, they lined up to collect a dose of Pepperup Potion from Madam Pomfrey.
As a reserve player for the Quidditch team, Hodge Blackthorn had attended a few training sessions, usually serving as a practice partner.
"The weather's no excuse!" the team captain bellowed one stormy morning. The starting players, along with the reserves, were weaving through the air above the pitch. After a while, the new Seeker, Cho Chang, raised her hand. "What's wrong?" the captain shouted from a distance. "Can't see a thing!" she called back. Moments later, they huddled together to strategize.
"Keep your speed steady—don't fly too fast."
"You've got to circle around, use your back or side to cut through the wind."
"I've got an idea," Hodge chimed in. "There's a spell for waterproofing and damp-proofing—"
"No good," the captain said, frowning. "That spell's for objects."
"—unless you're wearing glasses or goggles," Hodge added. "I've got a pair of goggles in my bag. Want to let Cho try them?"
The suggestion was quickly adopted.
Soon, the rest of the team watched as Cho Chang donned a pair of dark brown goggles, her bright black eyes obscured by the lenses, looking remarkably like an airplane pilot. "Waterproof and damp-proof," Hodge said, tapping the edge of the goggles with his wand. Cho nodded, kicked off the ground, and soared into the wind. Her speed increased, and she maneuvered deftly through the overcast sky, soon becoming little more than a blur.
A few minutes later, she landed back on the pitch.
"Brilliant! Completely unaffected!" she exclaimed, thrilled.
The captain, equally excited, clapped his hands. "Brilliant! This is our secret weapon! Cho, don't let anyone find out." He grinned, adding, "I'm starting to hope for bad weather during the match—Merlin bless, the heavier the rain, the better." Then, with a hint of worry, he asked, "Do you think other teams might figure this out?"
"Unlikely," Bradley reasoned. "No one's ever used goggles like this before."
The wizarding world did have goggles, but they were rarely used while flying on broomsticks. Typically, they were employed in Herbology classes to protect against particularly hazardous plants that could whip at your eyes.
"What about Potter?" someone pointed out. "He wears glasses."
Hodge shrugged under the team's collective gaze. Everyone knew he and Harry were close—practically brothers-in-arms after some life-or-death moments. "For the sake of our House's victory, I won't spill a word. But if Harry somehow gets a wild idea and asks me…"
Hearing this, the captain quickly reminded Cho to keep the goggles' purpose a secret from outsiders.
Though he'd attended a few Quidditch practices, Hodge devoted most of his energy to magical research. Even with Lockhart's "selfless assistance," he was struggling with a project: projecting an image of his future self or a powerful figure from his mind into reality.
Hodge had carefully curated his own "Restricted Section reading list," achieving partial success—maybe a third of the way there.
He'd once "summoned" a memory fragment of the invincible Andros in the library. By blending elements of the Patronus Charm and Boggart transformation techniques, he could just about conjure a semi-physical, magical projection. At first glance, it was impressive enough to fool someone. With luck, the projection could even cast one or two spells before fading into a dazed, ghost-like state, as if it had lost consciousness.
Frustrated during one attempt, Hodge had smacked the projection on the head, drawing the attention of the Ravenclaw house ghost, the Grey Lady.
"What's going on?" she demanded, her tone sharp and accusatory.
But when she floated closer and saw both Hodge and the projection, her mouth fell open in surprise. "This… is your magic?" She didn't mistake it for a ghost—though aloof and rarely attending ghostly gatherings, she'd know if a new spirit had appeared at Hogwarts. Besides, this "ghost" bore a striking resemblance to Hodge, just a few years older.
"Yes, Grey Lady," Hodge said. Knowing her true identity as Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, he spoke with a flicker of hope. "I drew on the Patronus Charm and some memory magic, but… it's not quite what I imagined."
The Grey Lady circled the semi-physical projection, studying it.
"You can cast a Patronus?" she asked skeptically.
Hodge didn't answer with words. Instead, he flicked his wand, and a silvery Nyx, his Thestral Patronus, burst from the tip. It spread its wings, circled the corridor, and slowly dissipated.
"Any suggestions, Grey Lady?"
"I can't… ghosts can't…" She recoiled sharply, her expression as if she'd been wounded. Regaining her icy composure, she said, "Creating new magic isn't easy. You'll have to rely on yourself. But… I've heard you've been lurking in the Restricted Section lately?"
"It's professor-approved," Hodge assured her.
The Grey Lady gave a soft humph.
"The Restricted Section holds… the magical notes of the four Founders. They might help you. I recall them being on a red-and-black bookshelf, but that was long ago."
"Thank you," Hodge said earnestly, suspecting she meant Rowena Ravenclaw's notes specifically.
It was a promising lead.
But then he hit a wall.
"No!" Madam Pince, the librarian, snapped, flatly rejecting Hodge's request.
"Why not?"
"Why?" Madam Pince clutched an ornate slip of paper, her mood sour. She'd received a stack of similar notes recently. Ignoring the slip, she fixed Hodge with a stern glare. "You filled in the book titles yourself, didn't you?" Her expression was that of a malnourished vulture.
"What does it matter, Madam Pince? I swear Professor Lockhart's signature is genuine."
That only seemed to make her angrier.
"I know," she spat. "I've never seen such an irresponsible professor!" Her temper flared. "The Founders' notes are not like other books. I need to be certain the signing professor knows what they're approving, not just scribbling their name and letting students write whatever they please."
Hodge realized he was in a tough spot. His frequent visits to the Restricted Section, treating it like a public library, had clearly gotten under Madam Pince's skin.
To get her approval, he'd need Lockhart to provide a fully detailed permission slip. Leaving the library, Hodge pondered how to convince him. In his mind, Lockhart was vain, fraudulent, flashy, and a compulsive braggart—but unlike Quirrell, languishing on a hospital bed, he wasn't brainless.
Unless—
"A flying device?" Lockhart said, astonished.
"Exactly," Hodge replied confidently after a Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He pulled a long strip of wood from his pocket and held it overhead. Without any visible spell, he lifted off the ground, soaring magically.
In the empty classroom, Hodge gripped the wooden strip, darting left, then yanked right, the scene both comical and bizarre.
Lockhart and a few lingering students stared, dumbfounded.
————
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