The Great Hall gradually emptied as people trickled out. Professor Flitwick dismantled the gilded stage, stacking its pieces in a corner. "We might have use for it again someday," he said with a touch of regret. "I'm sorry for messing up the Duelling Club," Hodge said.
The Ravenclaw Head looked up at him.
"Oh, no," he replied. "I did have high hopes for the Duelling Club, which is why I agreed to take it over after Professor Lockhart left… But when Umbridge showed up, my expectations sank to the bottom of the lake."
He moved to restore the four long tables to their original places.
"Come with me," Flitwick said, leading the way out of the hall, through the entrance, and up the spiral staircase. The corridors were deserted, and at first, Hodge thought they were heading to the Headmaster's office, but Flitwick clearly had other plans. They arrived at the Ravenclaw Head's office.
Hodge was no stranger to this room, often visiting for afternoon tea and discussions about magic. The most striking feature of the office was that all the furniture and decor were slightly smaller than average, making Hodge feel as if he'd grown taller every time he stepped inside. He settled into his usual chair, and Flitwick brought over a tray of pastries and pumpkin juice. "Have some," he said cheerfully. "From my younger days, I know duelling can leave you famished."
Hodge picked up a pastry. Flitwick perched on a chair at the other end of the desk (complete with two small steps to help him up), and the two began discussing the latest article in Charms Quarterly. After that—despite the questions swirling in Hodge's mind—he was happy to listen as Flitwick recounted his days as a duelling champion. Hodge chimed in with examples of his own sparring sessions with Tonks and Moody for comparison.
In the heat of their conversation, Hodge flicked his wand, summoning his magical projection.
Flitwick clapped his hands in admiration.
"Remarkable…"
The silvery, semi-tangible projection blinked, eyeing the two of them with a calm, almost leisurely air before drawling mockingly, "What, do you two need a free entertainer?"
Moments later, it was sitting cross-legged in midair, one hand propping up its chin, listening as Hodge and Flitwick discussed which spells suited "it." Flitwick mused, "Lacking magical strength? Then avoid high-powered spells. Some minor jinxes would do nicely—Tripping Jinx, Howling Hex, Sandstorm Spell, Jelly-Legs Jinx, and, of course, the Tongue-Tying Curse you've used before… They may only disrupt, but used well, they're just as effective. There's another tactic, too. Since your projection is agile enough to dodge most standard spells, let it take the lead—"
Hodge looked at Flitwick, surprised.
"Nothing extraordinary about it," Flitwick said with keen insight. "It's just returning to basics. Your projection magic stems from the Patronus Charm. Have you ever seen a wizard bypass their Patronus to charge at a Dementor themselves? Let the projection tire out and harass your opponent while you, the caster, stay at a safer distance, striking decisively when the moment's right. Of course, that requires excellent aim."
"And one more thing," Flitwick added, pausing. "Increase the magical energy your projection carries. You might need some external help… Are you familiar with goblin-forged metal?"
Hodge nodded. Of course he was—Gryffindor's sword was made of the stuff. Goblin-forged metal was renowned for its ability to resist or even deflect magical attacks, thanks to the ancient goblin runes embedded within. Weapons or armor crafted from it held a distinct advantage against dark magic. Hodge had read in Ravenclaw's notes about Godric Gryffindor's fighting style: charging into battle like an ancient knight, one hand wielding a sword to cleave through dark spells, the other casting powerful magic with his wand. The combination was a nightmare for his enemies.
That approach had fallen out of favor as modern magical systems prioritized faster casting.
Beyond that, goblin-forged metal had the remarkable ability to store memories. When Hodge was practicing to master Boggart transformations, he'd wavered between using goblin-forged metal or a memory vial, ultimately choosing the latter. Since perfecting his projection techniques, though, he rarely needed the vial anymore, though he still carried it just in case.
Flitwick explained that goblin-forged metal could also store magical energy, though it required alchemical techniques to unlock that potential.
"For a time, the Alchemical Society nearly monopolized goblin-forged metal," Flitwick said. "Back when they were at their peak, the first large-scale wizard-goblin war broke out. Of course, that was ages ago. The Alchemical Society is purely a research body now."
He glanced at the clock. "Well, it's nearly lights-out. That's enough for today."
Hodge stood and headed for the door but hesitated. "Shouldn't we talk about Umbridge?"
"No need," Flitwick replied. "I think you've been under too much strain lately. I just wanted to have a chat."
"Thanks," Hodge said.
Back in the Ravenclaw common room, he was greeted with enthusiastic cheers. Though everyone knew he'd faced dark wizards as a first-year, seeing it in person today was different. Overnight, Hodge seemed to have become an authority on Defense Against the Dark Arts. A crowd bombarded him with questions, clutching lists of queries. It took some effort to break free and return to his dormitory, where he found Terry and a few others huddled together, whispering. Anthony was scribbling furiously with a quill.
"Well, well, our duelling champion returns," Anthony teased provocatively.
Hodge raised an eyebrow.
"What, you lot gathered here to talk about that?"
"Well—"
"Enough," Terry interrupted, yanking Hodge over and plopping him onto a stool. "I just realized we've got a Defense Against the Dark Arts master right here—don't interrupt! And here I was, stressing about finals. Take a look. We've compiled a list of questions we've been saving up. Help us out… and we'll handle all your cleaning duties for the rest of the year."
Hodge stared at the parchment, several pages long and stuck together, feeling a bit dazed.
Earlier, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at a secluded table, discussing what they'd witnessed.
"Fudge was livid," Ron said, smirking. "I bet Umbridge is in for it now."
"Focus," Hermione snapped. "Do you remember what Fudge said to that dark-skinned Auror?"
"Kingsley," Harry supplied.
"Right, Kingsley. In their conversation, Fudge mentioned the Chamber of Secrets and Hagrid, saying they're reopening the investigation…" Hermione paused, looking at Harry and Ron. "Do you remember when Hagrid was expelled?"
"Fifty years ago," Ron said, eyes widening. "You're not saying Hagrid's the Heir of Slytherin, are you?"
"Of course not!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Ginny already told us—those extra memories she suddenly had—it was all You-Know-Who's doing. We know he opened the Chamber of Secrets when he was at school and killed Myrtle, but he was never caught. Instead, he got a Special Award for Services to the School…"
"You mean," Harry said, holding his breath, "Hagrid was the scapegoat?"
"We need to talk to Hagrid directly," Hermione said. "Before lights-out."
"I'll grab the Invisibility Cloak, just in case," Harry said.
Midnight.
Hodge was fast asleep in his four-poster bed when a tiny, silver-white figure, no bigger than a hand, shook him awake. The half-foot-tall projection stood on the Marauder's Map, tapping one foot. It mouthed, "Peter Pettigrew."
Hodge was instantly alert.
————
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