Time flew by, and before Halloween arrived, Hodge Blackthorn's magical projection had taken on a life of its own. When he walked around with it, people might mistake it for a ghostly sibling trailing behind him.
Hodge had also uncovered the secret to his earlier, fluky success with the spell, thanks to Ravenclaw's notes.
It was all about mindset.
In a treatise on magical theory—or what Hodge assumed was a treatise—Ravenclaw had written, "The essence of magic can be simply defined as the fusion of a wizard's magical power and their imaginative will. It might imbue an object or creature with new properties, transform it into something entirely different through transfiguration, or simply infuse an object with will-laden magic... But there exists a unique class of magic where imagination and will are amplified to their fullest, touching the mind and soul."
She went on to elaborate on this category of magic in meticulous detail.
Hodge pored over her words, cross-referencing them with the magical frameworks of a millennium later and his own understanding. He distilled the mental components required for casting into four distinct types. The first was the most familiar: spells like Wingardium Leviosa or Lumos, where incantations and wand movements dominated the learning process. Yet, through repetition, casters subtly conditioned their minds to align with the spell's intent.
The second type demanded more from the caster's mind and will, exemplified by minor jinxes and dark magic. Hodge concluded it was tied to the caster's emotions. To curse someone effectively, you had to mean it.
The third type, like the Patronus Charm, involved memory. The caster needed to focus on their happiest recollection, and the stronger the joy it evoked, the more powerful the spell. This hinged on the memory itself.
The fourth type was akin to Hodge's projection magic.
At this level, casting went beyond projecting simple will or emotion. To succeed, the summoned projection needed to possess thought, discernment, belief, and strength—an immensely complex process. The most vivid example was the portraits of past headmasters hanging in the Headmaster's office. Creating one required tremendous effort, and even then, they couldn't cast spells.
Hodge's challenge was even greater.
He wanted to wield this magic as effortlessly as a Stupefy, which demanded compressing a vast amount of information in his mind in an instant—a near-impossible feat, even for someone like Hodge, a natural Occlumens.
But Ravenclaw, one of the greatest wizards of a thousand years ago, renowned for her wisdom, had a solution. It wasn't about will, emotion, or a single memory—it was the projection of one's entire mindset. In magical theory, a wizard's mindset was the truest reflection of their inner self. As Ravenclaw put it, "It touches the soul, and thus, a mindset can carry an immense reservoir of memory."
Take the Patronus Charm as an example. When a wizard's mindset underwent a profound shift, their Patronus could change form. Many failed to realize that a happy memory was merely a catalyst. Those unable to cast a Patronus—especially dark wizards—had souls fundamentally at odds with the spell. A mindset, however, was the most direct expression of one's soul.
Halloween arrived, and Hodge woke early. Dawn was just breaking, and the dormitory was quiet, save for the loud snoring coming from Michael Corner's four-poster bed.
Hodge had been exhausted lately, tied up with Quidditch practice—as a reserve player. Despite that, his spirits remained high. One day, he'd come back soaked to the bone—torrential rain had been falling for days—grinning ear to ear as he told Hodge how thrilled the team captain was with the downpour.
Hodge glanced out the window. Today looked like it would be clear.
He dressed and headed downstairs. The common room was peaceful, with most students still asleep. It was a weekend, after all—no need to stir before the Halloween feast. Hodge sank into a cozy sofa, pulled a random book from the shelf to pass the time, and warmed himself by the fire. Before long, his gaze drifted to the white marble statue of Ravenclaw.
Atop her head sat an intricately carved diadem, said to enhance the wearer's wisdom.
Hodge clicked his tongue regretfully.
He'd been to the Room of Requirement and found Ravenclaw's diadem amidst a pile of junk, resting quietly on the head of a dusty wizard bust atop an old cabinet. But he couldn't touch it. Standing below, just looking at it, he'd felt a faint, malevolent aura. When he stepped back, the sensation vanished. Hodge knew the diadem harbored a piece of Voldemort's soul, dormant for years.
No one could predict if or when that soul fragment might awaken.
Though the odds were slim, Hodge decided it was best not to disturb it until he was certain. So, he'd draped a crumpled pink scarf over the bust, covering the diadem. It looked oddly reminiscent of Quirrell.
After lingering in the common room, Hodge decided to stretch his legs. He'd been holed up in the Restricted Section of the library for too long and craved fresh air. He descended the stairs, crossed the Entrance Hall, and stepped out of the castle.
Before he knew it, he was near the Black Lake.
The lake's surface was still, reflecting soft sunlight in a shimmering dance of light. According to Hogwarts: A History, the lake teemed with fish, a giant squid, and even a colony of merpeople.
"Hmm…"
Hodge stared at the water, an idea sparking in his mind. It was bizarre—no one had ever done this, as far as he knew—but curiosity stirred within him. After a moment of internal debate, he glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then snapped off a willow branch and transfigured it into a fishing rod.
Yes, he wanted to fish. All he needed was bait, but that was no problem for someone with his skill in Transfiguration.
Soon, Hodge sat beneath the willow, leisurely casting his line. The hook, adorned with wriggling "grass bait," danced in the water.
A gentle breeze blew, and the sun warmed his skin. It wasn't long before he had a decent haul. He released the smaller fish, keeping only two plump ones, and strolled back to the castle, heading for the kitchen. Inside, the house-elves were bustling about, preparing breakfast. They greeted Hodge warmly, and one elf scurried over, deftly taking the fish to prepare them.
"What would you like today, sir?" the elf asked with a bow.
"You lot haven't eaten yet, have you?" Hodge said cheerfully, gauging the time. "Perfect. Let's do one pan-fried and one for stew."
The elves set to work, and while they did, Hodge launched into a lively tale from his travels.
"Do you know how to change a zombie's clothes?"
The house-elves, with their wide eyes and flapping ears, shook their heads in unison. Dressed in tea towels emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, they couldn't quite wrap their minds around the idea, picturing a zombie that looked suspiciously like Hodge trying to get dressed.
"There's a trick to it…" Hodge continued. "You know how zombies have stiff joints and aren't exactly bright? Here's the secret: hang a bloody dead rat from the ceiling. They'll stare at it, completely distracted, and you can do whatever you need to do."
The house-elves gazed at Hodge with awe.
Hodge wasn't sure why they were so impressed—maybe they'd encountered a zombie or two themselves.
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