Hodge Blackthorn gazed up at the ceiling, puzzled, as if he could hear a faint, ethereal melody drifting through the air. The sound invigorated him, momentarily pushing aside his fixation on the pipes embedded in the walls—perhaps if he followed them, he'd run into Moaning Myrtle!
He turned to face the group.
"Oh, it's Professor McGonagall! Hello, Professor Flitwick. What spell is that? Can I learn it? …And good evening, Professor Snape."
As Hodge spoke, he stepped out of the broom closet. The menacing head and gleaming claws on his right side began to fade, dissolving into a swirling black mist above his head. The mist coiled into the shape of a horned creature, almost snarling as it took form. Hodge frowned, and the mist quickly darted into his school uniform pocket.
Click. The pocket watch inside his robes snapped shut.
Professor McGonagall blinked, clearly taken aback. Snape leaned back slightly, his hands tucked into his voluminous sleeves. Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.
"Aha! So this is what you meant by…" Flitwick's voice dropped to a whisper.
If the setting had been less tense, he might've awarded Hodge points on the spot.
McGonagall glanced around, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"We heard Peeves yelling in the corridor," she said. "Something about Professor Quirrell… attacking students. He also said he wanted to take on the most evil dark wizard in history. Honestly, I'm utterly confused. How did you… Are you all unharmed?"
Hodge, Neville, and Selma exchanged glances. They were all covered in dust, but their hair took the worst of it—Neville's golden locks had a singed black patch, faintly smelling of burnt toast, and Selma's long hair was frizzed and curled.
Aside from their hair issues, they were miraculously unscathed.
"Minerva…" Flitwick said uneasily.
McGonagall shot a glance at the diminutive Ravenclaw Head. He had conjured a transparent crystal orb and cast a spell to trap the black flames within. Every insect-shaped tendril of fire bounced harmlessly against the crystal's surface.
Flitwick had been holding the football-sized orb while speaking earlier.
"I see, Filius," McGonagall said. "You three, head to the hospital wing. Report to Madam Pomfrey for a thorough check-up. We'll discuss this later."
Hodge paused, his mind foggy from mental exhaustion. He felt light-headed, drifting along behind Neville and Selma. "Wait," Snape said, stepping in front of him.
"Out of the way, you big bat."
A collective gasp filled the air.
Selma's eyes widened in shock. No student had ever dared speak so bluntly to Snape's face in all these years.
Snape flashed a dangerous smile, barely containing his anger. "Don't you have anything else to say, Blackthorn?"
"What? Hold on, there is something…" Hodge's eyes darted around as he tried to recall. Snape hissed a name through gritted teeth: "Potter. He and his two friends are missing."
Hodge's face lit up with realization.
Neville's eyes widened too. He looked up abruptly, but when he saw Snape's face inches from his own, he froze, then turned to McGonagall and Flitwick, waving his arms frantically. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, you need to find Harry and the others—Harry, Ron, and Hermione! I overheard them talking about protecting something—something valuable. Quirrell wants it too, and he's working for You-Know-Who!"
His words tumbled out in a jumble, mentioning "three-headed dog" and "fourth-floor corridor." Selma tugged at his sleeve, and Neville abruptly stopped talking, realizing he'd said too much.
McGonagall's face turned ashen, her fists clenched.
Neville avoided her gaze, looking to Hodge instead. He was starting to piece things together. He'd come to this empty classroom to help Harry find Hodge, which meant Hodge was supposed to be with Harry, trying to beat You-Know-Who to whatever treasure he was after.
"Is Professor Dumbledore back?" Hodge asked, recalling the faint, otherworldly song he'd heard earlier.
Snape and Flitwick glanced at McGonagall. "He's back," she said sharply, her tone laced with frustration. "Filius, Severus, we'd better go check on this. And while we're at it, let's ask our dear Headmaster what he's been so busy with… You-Know-Who? This is madness!"
The three professors hurried past Hodge.
"Will Harry and the others be okay?" Neville asked, his face full of worry.
"Don't worry, Neville," Hodge said. All he wanted now was to get to the hospital wing, get checked, and sleep for three days straight. "They'll be fine."
Reassured, Neville followed Hodge and Selma toward the hospital wing.
Meanwhile…
Harry felt like he was about to die.
Their adventure had gone wrong from the start. After leaving a letter with all four of their signatures in the Headmaster's office, they split up to carry out their tasks. Hermione was supposed to keep an eye on Snape, but when she was caught, she had to lie about asking Flitwick a question and fled. Harry and Ron stationed themselves in the fourth-floor corridor, only to get a blistering scolding from McGonagall. That left Hodge, who was supposed to tail Quirrell—but, absurdly, Hodge had vanished entirely.
Harry and the others searched for him, even enlisting Neville's help, but found no trace. Luckily, they ran into a group of Hufflepuffs. Justin and Ernie said McGonagall had called Hodge away.
The trio exchanged helpless looks.
They didn't have the guts to confront McGonagall and demand him back.
As the sky darkened and Fred and George's magical creature light show neared its end, they made a decision: the three of them would go for the Philosopher's Stone alone.
"Can't we wait a bit longer? We're missing the top student in our year," Ron said glumly.
Hermione frowned. "The grades haven't even been posted yet, Ron."
Harry privately agreed with Ron but didn't want to dampen their spirits, especially now. After a quick pep talk, they set they set off: first, they lulled the three-headed dog, Fluffy, to sleep with a flute. Then they escaped Sprout's Devil's Snare trap. They powered through Flitwick's flock of enchanted birds and McGonagall's giant chessboard—where Ron sacrificed himself, knocked unconscious by a ferocious white queen. In the third room, Harry and Hermione found the charred corpse of a troll, its stench nearly making them retch.
"Take the Invisibility Cloak, Harry. Think about what we've seen on this journey…" Hermione urged.
In the fourth room, Hermione solved Snape's puzzle, identifying the two correct potions out of seven—one to go back, one to move forward. When Harry chose to press on, Hermione pleaded with him.
Harry's face was grim.
It wasn't just the troll. They'd seen the hacked remains of a jeweled bird in Flitwick's array and a decapitated bishop in the chess challenge. Whoever had passed through before them was brutally aggressive—not like Snape or Quirrell's style.
Harry obediently donned the Invisibility Cloak and headed into the unknown.
To his shock, the enemy wasn't Quirrell but a monstrous figure resembling him, covered in oozing sores, with blood-red eyes and a tattered robe slashed by some unknown blade. He looked like he'd just fought a grueling battle.
Oh, and he called himself Voldemort.
The Invisibility Cloak was useless. When Harry was discovered, he stalled for time, peppering Voldemort with questions and claiming Hodge had suspected Quirrell from the start. It earned him torture. Just as Voldemort reached for the Philosopher's Stone in Harry's pocket, Harry realized Voldemort couldn't touch him. Desperate, he grabbed Voldemort's arm like a lifeline.
Voldemort was furious.
He easily broke free, his face contorted with rage. Pinning Harry underfoot, he drew his wand, its tip glowing with a chilling green light. Harry's heart sank.
Bang!
At the critical moment, a dull thud rang out. Hope sparked in Harry's eyes—it was Peeves! The poltergeist hovered in midair, clutching a massive vase with a mischievous grin, and smashed it onto the back of Voldemort's head.
Harry thought he heard two screams.
Bang!
Another hit.
Harry scrambled out from under Voldemort's foot. Seizing the moment, he pressed both hands against Voldemort's face. Voldemort screamed, struggling to break free. Bang! Peeves brought the vase down a third time, shattering it completely. Voldemort stumbled and fell. A surge of courage flooded Harry. He straddled Voldemort, one hand on his throat, the other pressed against the blistered face.
"Peeves! Grab his wand!" Harry shouted wildly. As Voldemort writhed in agony, Harry's head throbbed painfully, his vision darkening. But survival instinct kept his grip tight.
Time blurred. He thought he heard Dumbledore's voice, followed by Peeves arguing with him.
"Old man! I deserve points for this!"
Harry's consciousness faded. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, but Peeves seemed… oddly heroic today. He had no energy left to dwell on it. When he finally awoke, he was in a hospital bed.
Harry stared blankly at the white ceiling and the crisp sheets covering him. It took a moment to register that he was in the hospital wing, where he and Hermione had visited Ron after Norbert's bite.
So, he was saved? Harry thought, elated. It wasn't a hallucination—a point-demanding Peeves? How brilliant was that? A crisp crunching sound came from the next bed. It was Hodge, sitting cross-legged, looking perfectly at ease, munching on fruit.
"Yo, Harry, you're awake? Long time no see."
————
Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .com/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)