Hodge set down the newspaper, his mind churning over the information he'd just read.
A surge of interest in the occult among Muggles; A new Ministry of Magic law involving Muggle participation, likely tied to those so-called "gifted" individuals; Lottie Turner, of all people, had a background as one of these "gifted" types, with a passing mention of Hodge himself; The bombshell news, of course, was Sirius Black's escape; And, what Hodge considered the most critical piece—Fudge had greenlit an expedition to Albania.
Albania… a small country in southeastern Europe, bordering Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, Kosovo, and Montenegro. After Voldemort lost his power, he'd hidden in Albania's forests, so weak he could only cling to life by possessing small animals. That is, until Quirrell wandered into those woods and carried Voldemort's remnant soul away… After Quirrell's failure, where was Voldemort now? Would he return to Albania?
"Troubled times," Hodge muttered.
The ghost attack and Sirius Black's breakout were causing a bigger stir than expected, and the two events seemed to be blending into one chaotic mess. During Potions class, Hodge overheard a few Hufflepuff students huddled around their cauldrons, whispering about the recent events.
"Haven't you noticed anything suspicious?" Ernie Macmillan said to Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Word is, it was Potter who led those students to the attack site."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Justin asked. Nearby, a girl with a blonde ponytail craned her neck to eavesdrop.
"It means he's got some kind of ability we don't know about," Ernie declared. "Something that let him figure out where the attackers were."
The ponytail girl clicked her tongue. "Ernie, you're not seriously saying… Potter's the Heir of Slytherin, are you?"
"Pretty close, Hannah. Or at least one of them. Think about it—on Halloween, everyone was in the Great Hall, with solid alibis, except for a few outliers." Ernie gave the group a pointed look. Just then, Terry Boot cut in, "Hold on, mate, that's a bit off, don't you think?"
"What's off about it?" Ernie hissed, but he froze when he caught Snape glaring their way. He quickly pretended to inspect the liquid in his cauldron. A moment later, he glanced up and saw Hodge watching him.
"Oh, sorry, slip of the tongue," Ernie mumbled.
"But you're not on the list, right? I heard from some older students that you showed up in the Great Hall right after that ghost feast thing ended—" Ernie's eyes lit up as if he'd stumbled on new evidence. He lowered his voice, drawing the surrounding heads closer. "And didn't you see the paper? Sirius Black broke out because of Potter. The man was locked up for twelve years—imagine the kind of grudge that'd make him risk everything just to see Potter's face… And Black's most notable trait? He was You-Know-Who's right-hand man, second only to the top Death Eater, according to the papers. But Potter ruined it all, and no one knows what really happened that night…"
"Ahem."
Ernie shot an annoyed glance toward the sound, only to see Hannah burying her face in her cauldron, utterly engrossed in the bubbling potion.
"Hey, I'm serious," Ernie pressed on. "You-Know-Who was at the height of his power. Why would he go out of his way to kill a baby? Unless—"
"Ahem," Hodge coughed loudly.
"Seriously, what's with—" Ernie started, but Terry cut him off.
"Ernie, mate, I've got to warn you—some magic comes with a price." Terry's lips twitched, and Ernie suddenly felt a cold gaze on his back. His slightly pudgy frame went rigid. It was Snape.
"Daydreaming in class and gossiping about your peers," Snape said softly, almost a whisper. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff. And detention, Macmillan. Every Saturday evening until the end of the month. That should teach you some discipline."
When class ended, Ernie's potion was a murky disaster. "Honestly, I almost feel bad for him," Terry said to Hodge as they left the dungeon classroom. "Snape's got this habit of nabbing someone for detention at the start of term, you know, for 'mishandling ingredients'…"
At lunch, Hodge didn't show up in the Great Hall.
Instead, he slipped into an empty classroom on the fourth floor and pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket. It looked like a tattered piece of parchment, but Hodge knew the secrets it held. He drew his wand and tapped the map lightly. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Instantly, intricate ink lines spread from the point of contact, sprawling across the parchment. They wove together into detailed floor plans of Hogwarts Castle and its grounds. Soon, thousands of tiny dots appeared, each labeled with a name in minuscule script. Most of the dots were clustered neatly in the Great Hall—students eating lunch.
This made things easier for Hodge. He scanned the stray dots scattered across the map. Mrs. Norris was lurking near a niche in the entrance hall, probably perched on the house hourglasses again. Peeves was bouncing around the third floor—close to the temporary meeting spot for Hodge's Whimsy Club, which made him glad his upcoming plan was about to unfold. His eyes flicked to the towers, where, unsurprisingly, he spotted "Peter Pettigrew" in the Gryffindor common room. Hodge stared at the dot for a moment before looking away.
He glanced toward the map's edge, focusing on the grounds near the Forbidden Forest. But he knew Sirius Black was still out at sea somewhere, probably dog-paddling in either human or Animagus form.
Suddenly, Hodge's eyes lit up.
He zeroed in on the top-left corner of the map, where the headmaster's office was marked. There were Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall's names, inside a spacious circular room. But they weren't alone—two extra dots were there. Hodge leaned closer. One was Cornelius Fudge, the other John Dawlish.
The Minister of Magic and a senior Auror?
Hodge mulled over Fudge's reasons for visiting. It had to be about Sirius Black. Maybe Fudge was trying to convince Dumbledore to let Dementors into the school. Just then, the dots for Fudge and Dawlish began to move. Hodge seized the moment, tucked the map away, and hurried to the second floor. He lingered near Moaning Myrtle's abandoned girls' bathroom, pretending to search for clues. Soon, he heard footsteps.
"Dumbledore, I urge you to reconsider," a weary voice said. Hodge recognized it as Fudge's from last Christmas.
"Cornelius," Dumbledore replied, his tone gentle but firm, "we've discussed this in my office. I will not allow Dementors on school grounds. If you wish to station them around the perimeter, I won't object."
"And the other matter—" Fudge began.
"I trust Hagrid," Dumbledore said curtly.
Fudge sounded exasperated. He opened his mouth to argue, but McGonagall cut him off.
"Blackthorn?" she said, startled. Hodge straightened up just in time to see four figures round the corner: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Fudge, and a man with short gray hair—likely Dawlish.
"What are you doing here?" McGonagall asked, striding toward him.
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