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With only one day left before the holiday break, Hodge Blackthorn was heading downstairs for breakfast when he stumbled upon a commotion.
Blending into the crowd, Hodge listened for a bit and pieced together what had happened. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had run into Hagrid in the Entrance Hall, where he was hauling a Christmas fir tree. They'd stopped to chat for a moment, but Malfoy, trailing behind, had hurled insults and mocked Ron's family. That sparked the scene unfolding now:
Ron had Malfoy by the collar, his freckles dancing on his furious face, fist poised to strike.
"Weasley!" Snape's voice cut through, his timing impeccably unfortunate.
For Ron, Snape's arrival was never good news. Sure enough, Snape, true to form, judged the person rather than the situation. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley. You should consider yourself lucky it's not more."
His silky tone carried an edge as he spoke, but then his gaze landed on Hodge. Whatever he'd been about to say seemed to die in his throat.
Snape's face twisted into a look of disgust, as if he'd spotted something filthy. With a sharp flick of his robes, he vanished from sight.
Malfoy, catching sight of Hodge, shot Ron a contemptuous glare before stalking off with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.
In moments, one side of the conflict—if you counted Snape as part of Malfoy's camp—had cleared out entirely, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid standing there, stunned.
"What was that about? Were they chased off by Fluffy or something?" Ron asked, bewildered.
Harry quickly shushed him. "Ron, shut it." Fluffy was the three-headed dog guarding the Philosopher's Stone, a secret hidden within the school—not something to blurt out.
Hermione shot Ron a reproachful look.
"Relax," Ron said with a careless wave. "No one knows who Fluffy is—hey, Hodge, let's test you."
Hodge stifled a laugh. "I'm guessing… some terrifying beast?"
As he stepped into the Great Hall, Ron's indignant protests echoed behind him. "Well, he's not wrong, but if he can guess what kind of beast Fluffy is—"
"Ron!"
Ron yelped in pain.
Inside the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were bustling about, setting up Christmas decorations. The room was a dazzling spectacle, entirely different from the Halloween setup.
Holly and mistletoe garlands draped the walls, and twelve towering Christmas trees lined the hall. Some sparkled with glittering icicles, others glowed with hundreds of flickering candles.
As Hodge stood watching, Flitwick called him over.
"A preview copy of The Charms Chronicle!" Flitwick announced gleefully, conjuring a magazine from his robes.
Hodge eagerly took it and flipped through the pages. About halfway through, he spotted a familiar article. Scanning it quickly, he found no edits or cuts, which eased half his worries. Flipping further, he saw a few lively comic strips printed at the back. His relief was complete.
He turned back to the article's opening page, his eyes lingering on the printed name.
"Not bad, eh?" Flitwick said. "The publishers sent it to me early… I know the editor-in-chief. It's a bit unconventional, but I thought you could take it home and share the joy with your family."
Hodge thanked him profusely.
A gruff voice boomed above him. "Mind moving aside?" It was Hagrid. Hodge stepped out of the way, craning his neck to look up. At this distance, all he could see was Hagrid's long black hair and tangled beard, like a giant black woolen ball perched on his shoulders.
Maybe Mrs. Norris would like it, Hodge thought absently. He returned to the Ravenclaw table, opened the magazine, and carefully read the review following his article:
"This is an article that blends theory and practice seamlessly. The author, through a meticulously crafted combination of potions, alchemical items, conjuration, and sound magic, has creatively constructed a magical field capable of unlocking a wizard's potential. The author provides over a dozen numbered case studies—notably, all test subjects, including the author himself, are from Hogwarts.
Let us remember the name of this prodigious scholar—Hodge Blackthorn, a mere first-year!
My only question is about the inspiration for this paper: a comic book, which I'm deeply curious about and hope to see in full someday."
Hodge grinned. Once the article was officially published, he could move on to the next step.
The next day, after packing—really just a few rolls of film, the Charms Chronicle preview, and some spare clothes—Hodge appeared in the common room. Soon after, prefects Herbert and Penelope led the first-years downstairs.
"How do we get back?" Hodge asked Terry.
"Oh, right, you didn't start the term normally," Terry said, smacking his forehead. "Same as we came—by the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9¾ at King's Cross in London."
Hodge felt a twinge of disappointment. He hadn't expected a professor to Apparate him home, but he'd hoped for a chance to try the Floo Network.
They descended the high steps toward the school gates, trudging through thick snow.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Hodge cast, and his trunk floated lightly. The other students caught on, and soon a chorus of spells filled the air. Dozens of trunks lifted off the ground, creating a spectacular sight.
At the school gates, Professor McGonagall and Filch, the caretaker, stood watch.
Outside, a dozen horseless carriages waited on the snowy grounds.
"Pick any carriage; the older students have already left," McGonagall said.
Hodge glanced past the carriages to the distant fields, where a winding dirt path stretched into the distance.
Hodge, Terry, and Michael climbed into a carriage, where Ernie Macmillan greeted them. "I saw what you did—using the Levitation Charm on your trunks. Pretty clever."
Soon, Slytherin students joined them.
The long line of carriages set off slowly along the path to the station. Hodge gazed out at the snowy landscape, knowing Hogsmeade village lay somewhere in the valley, though he wouldn't be allowed to visit until his third year.
Their destination was the station.
Hodge idly studied the front of the carriage, where the shafts stood empty, as if pulled by some invisible force. But he knew what was there.
"Thestrals," Ernie Macmillan said suddenly.
Hodge blinked in surprise. "You can see them?"
"I've seen pictures," Ernie replied.
Their exchange made it clear they both knew about Thestrals.
"What's a Thestral?" Terry cut in.
"They're invisible winged horses," Ernie explained. "Like the ones pulling our carriage."
"What? There's something there?" Michael Corner gasped.
"Yeah," Ernie said. "A lot of people fear them because—"
"They hurt people?" Terry asked, sucking in a breath.
"Not exactly. They're rare magical creatures, and the school keeps some to pull the carriages. The thing is," Ernie lowered his voice, "only those who've witnessed death can see them. Death itself. To everyone else, they're completely invisible!"
Terry swallowed hard, scooting toward the inside of the carriage. Michael let out a curious whistle, hoping the Thestral might respond.
Their reactions reminded Hodge of his and Percy's shopping trip in Diagon Alley.
Hodge stayed quiet, gripping his wand and staring at the carriage's front. The once-empty shafts now revealed the faint outline of a Thestral.
Clutching his Thestral-tail wand, Hodge finally understood Ollivander's words.
"Resilient, powerful, secretive, with a perception beyond the ordinary—and tied to life and death."
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