The storm caused by Sirius Black's surrender didn't die down; instead, it grew fiercer, with more details unearthed by the day.
First, there was Sirius's background.
Sirius was the last heir of the Black family. Of course, he had a younger brother named Regulus, who later joined the ranks of the Death Eaters and died quietly somewhere. Rumor had it that Voldemort himself killed him. But that wasn't the point—the focus was on Sirius. The Black family staunchly believed in the superiority of pure-bloods, but Sirius was a rebel who scoffed at such notions. This mindset took root early in his life, and the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor.
When newspapers published a side-by-side comparison of a young Sirius's photo and his appearance after twelve years in Azkaban, the stark contrast shocked many Hogwarts students. The young Sirius was strikingly handsome. In the photo, taken from who-knows-where, he grinned at the camera with an elegant charm.
Next came details about Sirius's relatives, friends, and enemies. There wasn't much to say about the former—most of his relatives had become followers of Voldemort, either locked up in prison, vanished without a trace, or fled abroad. But the latter sparked intense curiosity among the students, especially since many had witnessed their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor publicly embracing Sirius.
Currently, Sirius was detained in the Ministry of Magic's cells, awaiting trial. Rumors flew wildly, but Remus Lupin was still around. Despite the new professor's unassuming, almost destitute appearance, many students eagerly anticipated his classes.
"Maybe he'll teach us Dark Magic," one student said dreamily.
"No way, Dumbledore would never allow it," their friend shot back.
"I mean, like, demonstrate it for us!"
"It's not that exciting," Ron interjected from nearby. "I mean, he's a decent professor, but not as amazing as people think. He even needed a spell to deal with a Boggart…"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"That's the standard way the wizarding world deals with Boggarts. Plenty of wizards can't even handle one on their own."
"Why not? I can do it. Neville can, Seamus too, as long as we've had the lesson."
Hermione sighed. "Sure, you can handle a Boggart now. But in ten years? Twenty? Most wizards never use that spell after graduating. Do you really think they'd instantly remember it if they ran into a Boggart one day?" It was, in a way, another version of "giving knowledge back to the teacher after graduation."
Harry didn't join the discussion. He kept his head down, wondering whether he should talk to his father's old friend.
Truthfully, talking to Hodge would be more effective. But right now, Hodge was in Dumbledore's office, treating the beautiful circular room as his personal headquarters. With Dumbledore there, he didn't have to be cautious—he could use Ravenclaw's Diadem freely, though there was still a time limit.
Behind the long-legged desk, Dumbledore noticed a shift, a glint of curiosity flickering in his blue eyes.
"Something feel off to you?" he asked.
"There's definitely a risk," Hodge said softly, setting the Diadem down and exhaling. "Using the Diadem's power, I can communicate with my subconscious and even summon parts of it into reality…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "In theory, they're all me—parts of my mind. But once I use the Diadem and magic to bring them into being, they're no longer entirely harmless, even if it's only for a short time."
Hodge had realized the difference between conversing with his subconscious and projecting his inner state.
The former would eventually return to the vast ocean of his mind, coming and going as he controlled the process of "gathering" to seek wisdom from within. Projection, however, radiated energy outward, released through magic and not reclaimed. Thus, conversing with his subconscious was far more dangerous, especially when using the power of a Horcrux like the Diadem.
Of course, the Horcrux was intact, and the soul fragment within it remained dormant. There was no chance of Voldemort's soul shard suddenly waking up and invading Hodge's mind—that would be absurd. But the Horcrux itself was inherently dark, subtly influencing its surroundings even when idle. This was Dumbledore's view as well.
After an in-depth exchange of perspectives with Dumbledore, Hodge decided he wouldn't hide anything about his magical pursuits. He was only in his second year—there was plenty of time to independently study magic in the future. Besides, he knew he was treading a path few had walked, one he'd have to navigate alone. Hodge swore that during his years at Hogwarts, he'd absorb as much knowledge as possible, and the only person truly capable of guiding him there was Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's strengths and flaws were no secret, even in the wizarding world. But he had his principles—he'd sacrifice himself first, guide others subtly without force. This was the wisdom he'd gained over a century of life, and he wouldn't easily change it.
In the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore mused, "The magic you've created is tied to your innate talents, letting you achieve what others can't. But just because you can doesn't mean it's safe. If you don't recognize the dangers, I must urge you to be cautious." Witnessing Hodge wield the power of his subconscious had genuinely startled him.
He hadn't worn the Diadem himself, only studied it to confirm the soul fragment inside was truly dormant.
Hodge nodded in agreement. "My talents let me do things without needing to understand them. But when I try to unravel their secrets, that's when it gets dangerous." Without Dumbledore's warning, he might've stayed trapped in the mindset of "I'm gifted, I'm different," not realizing that talent was one thing, but using it to develop new magic marked his first step into treacherous waters.
He placed the Diadem in a cabinet, beneath which sat a rough stone basin—a Pensieve, used to store and view memories, a rare item. Given time, Hodge could achieve the same effect with his own abilities, as he was already doing, gradually weaning himself off reliance on the Diadem.
On Dumbledore's advice, after each use of the Diadem, Hodge carefully examined his mind—his memories, his perspectives, his personality—to ensure his subconscious didn't subtly shift his character.
"I've got a new spell," Hodge said after a moment's hesitation.
Dumbledore looked up, intrigued. A moment later, he stared, dumbfounded, at "another Dumbledore" in the office. Tall and thin, with silver hair and a beard long enough to tuck into his belt, and a long, crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice.
The other Dumbledore gave Dumbledore a gentle smile.
In a way, Hodge had realized an idea from his first days at Hogwarts: using his talent to project another person. But the technique had little practical use—he couldn't delve into another wizard's mind, grasp their thoughts, and replicate their magic. In the end, it became about projecting himself.
Unless, of course, he used ancient magic to steal someone else's magical traits.
But that was far too dark. If he did that, his "Dark Lord tendencies" would outstrip even Voldemort's.
Luckily, Hodge happened to have the magical traits of a Basilisk at hand.
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