That morning, the students were abuzz with chatter about the previous night's incident—an attack on a ghost, something utterly unheard of. Hodge overheard more than one student planning a trip to the library to dig up information on the matter.
Reactions to the victim being Moaning Myrtle varied widely. She wasn't exactly a standout among the ghostly crowd. Unlike Nearly Headless Nick with his quirky charm, the Fat Friar with his warmth, or the Bloody Baron with his terrifying presence, Myrtle mostly kept to her haunt—the abandoned girls' bathroom. This meant that anyone who'd crossed paths with her was likely on the receiving end of her foul temper.
"Imagine this: you're desperate for a loo, and she's there snapping at you. Then you step out to find the place half-flooded, sewage up to your knees…" a student groaned.
"Well summed up," Hodge said dryly. "But hearing that from you lot—"
"What?" Fred and George Weasley, flanking him on either side with their arms slung over his shoulders, grinned cheekily. "Heard from Ron you were looking for us?"
"Yeah," Hodge said, glancing around before lowering his voice. "I need to borrow something—something you nicked from Filch's office. The thing that shows names around the castle."
The twins exchanged a look over Hodge's head, their expressions turning serious.
"We thought that was a secret," Fred said.
"It'll stay a secret," Hodge assured them.
"It's taught us more than all our professors combined—" George began.
"Practically launched us on a magical journey," Fred added.
"I'll give it back," Hodge said quickly. "I just need it for a month or two. It's important."
"It's saved our skins countless times—" George continued.
"And sparked our creative genius," Fred chimed in.
Hodge shot them both a look.
The twins broke into wide grins. "No problem," Fred said with a wink. "Trying to catch the Heir of Slytherin? Good luck. Just don't forget to mention us in the interview."
"Special thanks to the Weasley twins," George added, "for their invaluable help, boundless optimism, and vibrant enthusiasm—"
"—not to mention their impeccable sense of humor."
"And their dedication to inventive brilliance."
As they spoke, Fred pulled a large, neatly folded, and rather worn piece of parchment from his pocket and slipped it into Hodge's hands. Hodge barely managed to get a word in.
"How's the prank business going?" he asked.
"Brilliant," Fred replied. "We're working on perfecting the Dungbomb. The old ones don't stink nearly long enough."
What could Hodge say to that? He mentally added the Bubble-Head Charm to his study list—a spell that would let him breathe freely underwater or in foul air. "Oh, by the way," he said thoughtfully, "I've been working on a new product myself. Not a prank, mind you—hear me out." He tried to ignore the excited looks on Fred and George's faces, as if he'd finally seen the light and was ready to dive into their grand prank empire.
"First Quidditch match of the season—keep an eye on Lockhart, alright?"
The twins exchanged another glance.
"Mate, you planning something big?" Fred asked, practically buzzing with excitement.
"How did we not think of that?" George said, shaking his head.
"We'll be watching come the day after tomorrow," Fred concluded. "Come on, George, I've got an idea. If that buffoon can only put on a show in class, why not make him demonstrate in person?"
The brothers stood, and Fred leaned in close to Hodge's ear. "Don't forget: I solemnly swear I am up to no good." With that, he and George sauntered off.
Hodge glanced at the Marauder's Map and went back to his breakfast.
Just then, a flock of owls swooped into the Great Hall, circling the tables and dropping letters. Hodge untied the latest issue of the Daily Prophet from a long-eared owl's leg and flipped it open to the front page. He nearly choked.
Similar chaos erupted at the other tables. It was as if a sudden flu had swept through the school: some students sprayed milk from their noses, others knocked over jam dishes, and a few sat slack-jawed, forks clattering onto plates unnoticed. The headline screamed: Sirius Black Escapes! Fudge's Blunder Unleashes a Demon Aimed at the Boy Who Lived.
It was so bizarre that Hodge felt a surreal sense of absurdity. His eyes darted to the byline—Rita Skeeter. Of course. That explained everything. He unfolded the paper and read on:
The Ministry of Magic is having a rough year, writes our special correspondent, Rita Skeeter. Since the start of the year, the Ministry has been plagued by troubles. A mysterious occult craze has swept the Muggle world, and unlike past fads, some of these so-called "gifted" individuals actually wield magic! They call themselves "metas." The Ministry is scrambling to respond, and sources say a groundbreaking new law is in the works—one that, unusually, involves Muggle government officials. Spokespersons have declined to comment further.
Your correspondent has learned that these metas aren't confined to the Muggle world—they've infiltrated Hogwarts, disrupting the normal magical order. Lottie Turner, for instance, comes from a thoroughly Muggle background. Her father is a key figure in one of these meta organizations, yet Hogwarts' Headmaster Dumbledore and his staff have gone to great lengths to conceal this. This reckless decision, never debated in the Wizengamot, raises questions about whether Dumbledore is losing his touch. And before her, another student arrived two months late, quickly rising to prominence as a prodigy in Charms.
But these are mere appetizers compared to the Ministry's true failures. Two months ago, the Boy Who Lived and his friends flew a magical car across Britain (see our expert analysis on page three). Minister Fudge's response? To parade them before Sirius Black, the most dangerous and infamous criminal in wizarding history, letting him see with his own eyes that the Boy Who Lived is thriving in the colorful world of Hogwarts. For a devoted follower of You-Know-Who, this sight must have been more infuriating than his twelve years in Azkaban combined. Predictably, Black escaped from the wizarding world's most secure prison with ease—perhaps having learned a trick or two from his old master, the Dark Lord.
Sirius Black's known crimes include first-degree murder, having once killed a wizard and twelve Muggles in a single act; espionage, betraying his closest friend and passing countless secrets to You-Know-Who during the war, leading to the deaths of at least a hundred resistance fighters; and, after his capture, refusing to cooperate, not uttering a single word beyond what was necessary.
Now, twelve years later, Black has mustered the audacity to break out—a feat undoubtedly tied to Fudge's "brilliant" decision-making. Yet, in these turbulent times, our Minister of Magic still finds time to authorize expeditions to ancient ruins in Albania…
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