The Undetectable Extension Charm is a spell that expands the internal space of a container—whether large like rooms, tents, or cars, or small like boxes, handbags, or toolboxes—allowing it to hold far more than its exterior suggests after being enchanted.
In the 1920s, Newt Scamander's ecological suitcase was once legendary—or more accurately, infamous. Magical ministries worldwide treated his arrivals like a national emergency, terrified he might unleash an army of XXXXX-level dangerous magical creatures.
Bill's toolbox was a simplified version, capable of holding only inanimate odds and ends.
Still, it left Hodge utterly amazed.
Of course, his attention was mostly drawn to the tools inside the box. The delicate magic-detecting lens that could capture faint traces of spellwork intrigued him immensely. When Bill approached the rock wall, the lens in his hand immediately flickered with red light, brightening and dimming in rapid succession. Harry and Sirius had long been curious about curse-breaking work; the moment they saw movement, they hurried over to investigate.
Ron, on the other hand, trailed behind at a leisurely pace.
"Didn't you say you weren't interested in curse-breaking?" Hodge teased.
Harry gave an embarrassed grin. He didn't know how to disarm traps himself, and Hodge hadn't explained a word. When it was Sirius's turn, he'd been even more cryptic—muttering to himself, running his hands over the rock wall to make it glow faintly (which was admittedly impressive), but spending the rest of the time racking his brain to recall spellbooks he'd read over a decade ago. Harry strongly suspected that, beyond draining happiness, the Dementors had sucked away chunks of Sirius's memory during his imprisonment.
In this, Hodge was the master.
Harry wondered if he should privately ask Hodge for help curing Sirius's forgetfulness, but he didn't dare say it aloud. So, with nothing better to do, he, Sirius, and Ron wandered off to practice dueling in the distance while keeping watch. Sirius used the cave as an example, teaching them how to avoid sudden ambushes.
"Come take a look—found something?" Harry's eyes were drawn to the "miniature" parts in the toolbox, which reminded him of Uncle Vernon's repair kit.
"Too early to tell," Bill said, pulling a golden spray bottle from a hidden compartment beneath the box. Harry watched, stunned, as the bottle—initially the size of an asthma inhaler—expanded in a blink to the size of a watering can.
"Reducio?" Harry whispered to Hodge.
Hodge shook his head slightly. "Undetectable Extension Charm."
Bill picked up the conversation, his tone easygoing as he explained, "Revealing potion. It mixes with magical residue, manifesting shapes and even disrupting unstable magical locks." As he spoke, a cloud of purple mist sprayed from the bottle's nozzle.
Hodge, who owned a camera, was very familiar with "revealing potion." He thought Bill had its use backward—it was more commonly used to make photographs move. With the right technique, even Muggles could operate it. At that moment, the rock wall's surface began to show a web of fine lines, quickly forming the shape of a door—only to flicker and vanish just as suddenly.
"I knew it wouldn't be that easy, but we're on the right track," Bill said calmly, pocketing the spray bottle. Then, his movements mirrored Sirius's earlier ones as he ran his fingers over the wall's patterns.
Hodge watched with rapt interest, while the other three quickly lost enthusiasm.
Before long, it was noon. At Sirius's suggestion, the five headed to the dilapidated little village halfway up the mountain for lunch. The village had only one restaurant. Ron and Bill watched with amusement as Hodge expertly ordered. While waiting for the food, Ron cautiously asked a rather dim question.
"Do they really cook without magic?"
Hodge, who had been quizzing Bill on curse-breaking, paused and looked at Ron curiously. Ron muttered under his breath, "I know they can't do magic. I mean—do they never use magic? Not even when cooking?"
Hodge and Harry exchanged a glance, both amused and slightly incredulous. Surprisingly, Bill and Sirius were genuinely interested in the topic and jumped in. Of course, neither entertained the idea that "Muggles who can't do magic might still use it while cooking." Sirius declared firmly, "Muggles don't use magic for anything."
"Yeah, it's hard to believe," Bill added. "When I was breaking the Curse of Khufu, I worked with seven goblins." His face twisted in painful recollection. "Goblins are clever, stubborn, with their own logic—and they hate wizards. Convincing one goblin is bad enough; convincing seven is a nightmare. Luckily, it all worked out. We spent three months at the bottom of a lightless pyramid—you can imagine, we couldn't send a goblin to handle food and supplies, not even the smoothest-talking one."
"So I had to do it," Bill sighed softly. "That was one of the most unforgettable periods of my life—far from anyone I knew, dealing daily with two groups: goblins and Muggles. I'll admit, before that, I didn't understand them nearly enough."
A little later, the owner brought out roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, shepherd's pie, and fresh sea fish. "What's that?" Ron asked, pointing at a dark, lumpy dish on the next table, his face a mix of curiosity and disgust.
"Black pudding," the owner said simply. It was a sausage-like food made from animal blood, meat, fat, oats, and bread, typically eaten for breakfast, with regional variations. In their little village, it was made with pig's blood and oats.
Ron stared at the scruffy, tangled-haired middle-aged man across from them devouring the blood sausage, his expression priceless. Hodge glanced at the tattered cloth bag at the man's feet, guessing he was some kind of plumber or electrician. Bill, intrigued by the man's leather jacket and black iron chain necklace, unconsciously touched his own earring.
The conversation soon circled back. Sirius, Bill, and Ron all came from traditional wizarding families, and their view of Muggles differed sharply from Hodge's—not in attitude toward them, but in a complex mix of pity and admiration. On one hand, they couldn't imagine life without magic: cooking with spells, cleaning with spells, let alone building houses, roads, education, travel…
How do Muggles even live without magic?
Though unspoken, Hodge could feel the sentiment.
Yet on the other hand, Muggles had undeniably accomplished remarkable things. Sirius and Bill, especially, had direct experience. Sirius's motorcycle was a secondhand Muggle find he'd privately modified, and his room was plastered with faded photos of old Muggle pin-up girls…
When the meal ended, Hodge reached to pay. Ron, summoning his courage, asked to handle it. Hodge handed him the banknotes. Ron's departing back looked like a man marching alone to face Voldemort—every step stiff and mechanical. Harry had to accompany him. A while later, the two returned, beaming.
"Here's the change," Ron said, handing Hodge a stack of small bills, practically glowing with pride.
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