The Blackthorn family was having dinner.
With a guest in the house, the spread was more lavish than usual: roast beef, lamb, steamed potatoes, and broccoli, paired with honey-glazed smoked ham, fried fish, fruit pudding, and cherry-pomegranate juice.
"You're saying your hair just… grows back on its own?" Mr. Blackthorn asked, eyeing Harry's perpetually messy hair with astonishment.
"Er," Harry swallowed a bite of beef, "yeah. Once, my aunt thought my hair was too long and chopped it short with scissors. By the next day, it was back to normal."
Mrs. Blackthorn used a long pair of tongs to place a slice of pudding on Harry's plate, her eyes brimming with curiosity. So, this small, bespectacled boy was the one prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord? It was more far-fetched than the plots in her novels. Her gaze shifted to her own son, slightly taller, fairer-skinned, and, thankfully, with neatly manageable hair.
But right now, this usually low-maintenance child was dead set on confronting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"Such a remarkable boy," she said warmly. "Harry, may I call you that? I've never seen Hodge bring a classmate home before. You two must be close. I hope you'll look out for him at school."
Harry promptly choked on his pudding. His mind raced with questions. Remarkable? Me? Help Hodge? Does Hodge even need my help?
"Hodge is the top of our year," Harry blurted out. "He's even better than Hermione. Compared to them, I'm miles behind."
Mrs. Blackthorn shot Hodge a glance. "That boy only knows how to bury himself in books."
Harry nearly choked again. He looked at Hodge in disbelief, only to find him staring intently at the fried fish on his plate, as if its glassy eye held the secrets of magic itself.
Mr. Blackthorn, however, perked up with interest. "Hermione? Is that the friend you've mentioned from school?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "She's a Gryffindor too, loves reading." He shared a few of Hermione's accomplishments, and seeing the Blackthorns listen so attentively, he felt a swell of pride.
A sudden boom rumbled outside as dark clouds gathered, followed by a downpour.
"Don't worry," Mr. Blackthorn said, glancing out the window. By now, they'd finished the feast and were lounging on the sofa, sipping steaming tea. He turned to Harry. "When the rain lets up, I'll drive you home. Want to call your family?"
Harry quickly shook his head.
He could only imagine Uncle Vernon's reaction to a call from a classmate's parent—especially after the fiasco a few days ago when Ron had called. It was likely Ron's first time using a Muggle telephone, and fearing the other end wouldn't hear him, he'd shouted at the top of his lungs. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon had picked up. By the time he hung up, he was livid.
Harry wasn't keen on a repeat, though he was sure Mr. Blackthorn was well-versed in using a phone.
He swiftly changed the subject. The Blackthorns exchanged a glance and went along with him, seamlessly following his lead. Somehow, the conversation turned to the scars of war. Mrs. Blackthorn spoke of her parents' deaths, and Harry, feeling a pang of empathy, found himself opening up more than he expected. For the first time, he learned about the Blackthorn family's distant connection to the Black family.
So, Hodge is related to Sirius? Harry thought. I'm Sirius's godson, so rounding up, doesn't that make me and Hodge sort of connected too? He recalled Ron mentioning that most old wizarding families were intertwined through marriage.
"…That's incredible. So, in your first year, you faced You-Know-Who head-on? That must've been terrifying," Mrs. Blackthorn said.
Harry blinked. Something about her words felt off.
Hodge's parents seemed unusually curious about Voldemort. Under Mrs. Blackthorn's warm gaze, he scratched his head and shared some of the less harrowing details, carefully avoiding things like Quirrell's second face. Even so, the couple gasped and exclaimed, praising Harry's bravery. Embarrassed, Harry deflected, emphasizing others' contributions—Hermione's brilliance, Ron's chess mastery, and, of course, Hodge's heroics in another part of the battle.
"I still don't know how I fended off Quirrell," Harry said admiringly, "but Hodge faced him directly. More than once, even."
As he finished, he felt a piercing gaze. Turning, he met Hodge's intense blue eyes.
The living room fell silent.
Hodge sighed inwardly. He'd noticed his parents subtly probing Harry. As adults, coaxing information from an unsuspecting Harry wasn't hard. He hadn't stopped them right away because he was torn—should he let Harry reveal some truths to his parents? He couldn't keep everything hidden forever.
"So, our little Hodge is that impressive? He never mentioned it," Mrs. Blackthorn said with a tight smile, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her teacup.
"I did mention it," Hodge muttered under his breath.
"I remember you saying you saw a dragon egg hatch, but a Boggart turning into a dragon…" Mrs. Blackthorn trailed off, lost in thought. "A Boggart… is that the thing I'm thinking of?"
Realizing he'd said too much, Harry clammed up. He sank into the sofa, wishing he could vanish, barely breathing. In the rest of the conversation, he answered sparingly, redirecting every question back to himself. Soon, sweat beaded on his forehead. Thankfully, the rain outside eased, and darkness fell. Seizing the chance, he stood to leave.
"I'll walk you out," Hodge offered, escorting Harry to the door.
"Here, take this." Mrs. Blackthorn emerged from the kitchen, handing Harry an elegant bottle. He stared at the whiskey label in confusion. This is for me?
"It's for your aunt and uncle," she explained. "It's late, so you should bring something back for them."
Harry, facing her warm smile, stammered a thank-you on behalf of the Dursleys. He followed Mr. Blackthorn to the car, peering through the drizzle at the cozy house. A pang of longing hit him. He thought of his own parents—if they were alive, would they be as warm and welcoming as the Blackthorns?
The car started slowly. Sitting in the back, Harry wondered when he'd visit again. He turned for one last look, straining to spot the Blackthorns' window. Just before the car rounded a corner, he caught a glimpse of two silhouettes—wait, was Mrs. Blackthorn pulling Hodge's ear? Harry rubbed his eyes, unable to believe it.
"What's wrong?" Mr. Blackthorn asked.
"Nothing," Harry replied quickly, clutching the whiskey bottle and sitting up straight.
————
Supporting me on Pa-treon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .c-om/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)