Ron and Hermione stared at Hodge, while Harry cast him a complicated glance, a faint unease stirring in his chest, though deep down, he felt this was the right thing to do.
"A strange voice," Snape repeated in a low tone, his expression peculiar as he fixed his gaze on Harry.
"That's right," Harry said haltingly, before anyone could assume he was suffering from some rare illness. "We were coming out of the dungeon classroom, heading back to the Great Hall for some dessert…" Once he started, the rest came more easily. He recounted everything he'd heard, emphasizing the words "starving" and "kill" that seemed to echo from within the walls.
Finally, he spilled the odd events from his recent detention as well.
"It was in this very room," Harry said, gesturing vaguely. The portrait of Lockhart on the wall flinched in alarm, and Lockhart himself stiffened visibly. "I was writing replies for Professor Lockhart's fan mail when I heard the same cold, murderous voice… only, I thought it was a hallucination. I'd just come back from Azkaban, after all."
The office fell silent.
Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and Lockhart all looked utterly stunned. Madam Pomfrey gripped her wand tightly, and if the timing hadn't been so inappropriate, she likely would've rushed over to give Harry a full examination, brain included.
"I don't think that thing—whatever it is—picked the right target," Harry added quietly. "It's not like it could satisfy its hunger with a ghost."
Dumbledore's probing gaze settled on Harry, making him feel as though he'd been seen straight through. But Harry had already said everything he needed to, so he stood his ground calmly. The remaining questions—like why only he could hear the voice in the walls—were mysteries even to him.
"I think this is a very useful clue," Hodge said. "Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Lockhart, Madam Pomfrey… Snape—" He caught a sharp glare and stiffly added, "—Professor."
Hodge's words drew everyone's attention.
"Perhaps we could start with Harry's gift," he continued. "I've read that some people are born with extraordinary talents, abilities that ordinary witches and wizards don't have—like speaking with birds, controlling animals, or excelling in a particular area." He paused, then said, "Like me, for instance. I'm a natural Occlumens."
His words landed like a bomb in the office.
Harry's head snapped up, shocked that Hodge would reveal such a secret so openly. Given his personality, it couldn't have been a slip of the tongue—especially not now, right after an attack. Wasn't he worried about drawing trouble? And besides—Harry racked his brain but came up empty-handed on any knowledge of Occlumency. Thankfully, Ron voiced the question for him.
"A natural what?" Ron asked, instinctively glancing at Hermione.
"A natural Occlumens," Hermione said softly. "In simple terms, someone who can use Occlumency. It's a type of magic that protects your mind from being read or your emotions from being sensed."
"How do you do it?" Harry blurted out, only realizing afterward that the question might be out of place.
He caught a glint of admiration in Hermione's eyes as she answered briefly, "You fabricate a memory."
It clicked for Harry. He thought back to the club activities Hodge had organized last year. It all made sense now—Hodge had been experimenting with his own talent, drawing inspiration and testing it on a group of students. Harry shot Hermione a slightly odd look, remembering how she'd been muttering about it around him and Ron when her paper was published. Now, the pieces were finally falling into place.
Even Dumbledore's blue eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise.
"I see," he said. "That's a fine approach indeed." He turned to Ginny and Lottie Turner, who had been silent so far. "Miss Weasley, Miss Turner, do you have anything to add?"
"Professor Dumbledore," Ron interjected quickly, "Ginny was just with us. There's no way she's the culprit." He rambled on, "Ginny's been hanging out with us a lot lately, pushing us to practice spells and stuff… right, Harry?"
Harry nodded.
"You've misunderstood, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "I only wanted to know if she's noticed any details or anything unusual recently."
Ron opened his mouth but said nothing more.
All eyes turned to the two first-years. Ginny hesitated, her lips parting but no words coming out. Lottie, though visibly nervous, spoke up. "I—um, I only know about the paint. Unless someone else at Hogwarts uses the same kind, it's a special blend I made myself with a unique coloring agent… So, I think maybe someone took some of it when I wasn't looking. Could that help? Also… I tend to leave my painting supplies lying around, and I often take them outside for sketching."
"Thank you, Miss Turner," Dumbledore said. Just as Hodge was about to ask Ginny for her input, Dumbledore skipped over her and turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, please inform Pomona to have someone check Miss Turner's dormitory, particularly for signs of unauthorized entry."
McGonagall nodded and left the room.
"You may all go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Hodge, and the others. As they filed out, Lockhart opened his mouth, seemingly to ask Hodge about the progress on his flying robes—with the first Quidditch match only days away—but Hodge ignored him. As he closed the door, he faintly overheard Snape asking, "Headmaster, who do you think it is?"
"It's not a question of who," Dumbledore replied, "but why…"
The moment they stepped out of the office, the group quickened their pace. Harry led at first, eager to find a place to discuss with his friends, but soon a figure with fiery red hair darted past him, disappearing around a corner.
"Ginny?" They exchanged glances and hurried to catch up.
"She must be terrified," Ron said, panting. "Even though she's stricter than Hermione during training—practically a little demon." Harry nodded in agreement. He'd been under enough pressure lately, with Wood's brutal Quidditch practices pushing him to the limit. And that wasn't even counting the time he'd foolishly borrowed Cornish Pixies from Hodge to practice spell-casting, leaving him no room to breathe.
Thank Merlin, when Hodge told him Professor Kettleburn had taken over the pixies, Harry could've wept with relief.
But just when he thought the intense training was over—and Hermione seemed relieved too—Ginny wouldn't let it go. She seemed to love the challenge, always finding excuses to push them harder. Once, Ron had had enough and shouted at her to go bother someone from her own house (the actual scene was far uglier). Ginny's response was a swift Bat-Bogey Hex that knocked him flat.
Harry could hardly describe that moment. Nor could he decide which was more memorable: Ron spewing slugs from his mouth or bats flying out of his nose. He'd never asked Ron about it, and Ron had never brought it up.
Ginny didn't stop, racing all the way back to the Ravenclaw common room and diving straight into the girls' dormitory.
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