"I've got loads of spells I haven't even used," Tonks said, sounding miffed as she wiped sweat from her face.
"Couldn't agree more," Hodge Blackthorn replied.
Once she'd left, Hodge borrowed Hermione's spell list and started poring over it, cross-referencing each one. "Something wrong?" Hermione asked. "Just checking for gaps," Hodge said, his eyes darting quickly across the page. "There are two spells that might come in handy."
"Which ones?" Hermione asked, immediately raising her quill.
"Lubricus Planum and the Ice-Making Charm. Used together, they could have a decent effect," Hodge said. "Hmm, let me think… add Aguamenti and Bombarda to the mix."
"But don't you already have that magic?" Harry said, curling his fingers into a claw-like gesture. He was referring to Hodge's Boggart Dragon, and he didn't think Tonks could handle a creature of that caliber.
"I'm not using it," Hodge said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Just like she wouldn't use any of the Unforgivable Curses."
Hermione let out a squeak.
"The Unforgivables? Her? I mean—"
"Oh, I'm not sure if Tonks knows them, but they were required learning for Aurors back in the war days. No idea if they've gone soft on that now," Hodge said. "Anyway, I've got to run, Harry. Good luck with Quidditch. Try not to break an arm or anything…"
Harry and the others exchanged looks.
"I'd bet anything he's off preparing for the next challenge, studying new spells, new tactics… he's treating Tonks like she's Peeves," Ron said confidently.
Hodge had indeed found some fun in the recent skirmish. Even though it had just ended, his mind was already buzzing with ideas: he hadn't used Transfiguration, nor the hybrid spells Professor Flitwick had mentioned, nor jinxes, counter-curses, or dark magic, nor any props… Speaking of props, Hodge stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, realizing he'd nearly forgotten something important.
He hurried back to the dormitory and spread a glossy brown dress robe with gold threading across his desk. It was meant for Lockhart, but it still needed one final touch: enchanting the buttons to adjust and balance the wearer. Just before curfew, he knocked on the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office. "Oh, I thought you'd forgotten," Lockhart said, sporting a head full of curling rods.
"So, this is the flying prop? Let me give it a go… No worries about the hair, I'm happy to throw myself into my students' magical endeavors… Oh, Merlin's beard! I'm floating! Incredible… Ouch!"
"The buttons!"
"What buttons? Oh, dear!"
After a flurry of chaos, Hodge managed to pull Lockhart down from the ceiling. Lockhart's hair was a mess, one curling rod dangling limply behind his ear, but he was positively thrilled.
"Remarkable… The first button's the switch? Perfect for a dramatic bow…" Lockhart said with a beaming smile. "And the other buttons adjust angle and speed?" When Hodge nodded, he grinned wider. "Looks like I'll need some time to get the hang of it, but I'm not one to shy away. A bit of advice from someone who's been there: success is never an accident."
He politely ushered Hodge out, clearly planning to stay up all night experimenting. If Hodge hadn't been clutching a stack of Restricted Section passes, he'd have stayed to argue his case.
Success is never an accident… Who was he talking about?
Meanwhile, Tonks returned to the temporary camp set up at the Quidditch pitch—a large tent that was far more spacious inside than it appeared from the outside. The interior was filled with makeshift furnishings, and a few people were hunched over a table, studying something. Tonks approached and saw it was a topographic map, marked with bold ink strokes.
"Here, here, and here are the key positions. We need to station lookouts," a gruff voice said. "I borrowed some Sneakoscopes from the Ministry. Those little things are discreet and can serve as hidden sentries." The voice added, "Pity we're still short on manpower. The Forbidden Forest is too open…"
"Alastor?" Tonks said, surprised.
"The one and only," Moody growled, one eye fixed on the map while his magical eye—clearly a fake—swiveled toward her. Then he frowned.
"You've been in a fight?"
At his words, the others around the map straightened up. A tall, dark-skinned man pulled out a silver whistle, eyeing Tonks calmly as if ready to blow it at any moment.
"Not Black—it was a student," Tonks said quickly, knowing the whistle's purpose. One blast would summon Dementors from afar, and she wasn't about to cause that kind of stir.
"A student?" Moody roared.
"Yep, you know him… He's been discussed at the Ministry…" Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the witch across the table—a short, stout woman with a wide, sagging face and a pink bow tied in her grayish-brown hair: Dolores Umbridge. Her face was plastered with a fake smile, and as Tonks spoke, her puffy eyes narrowed.
"Hodge Blackthorn."
Everyone turned to Umbridge. Last Christmas's events had spread through the Ministry, especially after her fall from grace—many were delighted to see her squirm. Umbridge seemed unfazed, asking in her sickly sweet voice, "What's that, dear?"
Tonks quickly looked away.
Moody, unmoved, kept one eye on Tonks while his magical eye turned toward the castle—too far to see anything. He rasped, "You're sure it's him? Not someone impersonating him? If I recall, he's only a second-year."
"What? Oh, it's definitely him. He's a genius," Tonks said, not holding back her praise.
"Tell me about the fight," Moody said gruffly.
So Tonks recounted the recent duel. Umbridge slipped away before she started, claiming she had paperwork to handle. Everyone knew the real reason, and no one stopped her. As Tonks spoke, Moody paced around the table, his wooden leg clunking with every step.
Kingsley looked impressed, while Dawlish seemed skeptical.
"Using multiple Protego charms as a barrier?" Moody let out a barking laugh, his scarred face twitching slightly, making him look even more intimidating. "Protego doesn't hold up against powerful curses, but for his age… I want to meet him."
Tonks blinked in surprise. "But don't you have something else going on? Is the Ministry sending you—"
"Not about that," Moody cut her off with a wave. "I'm leaving the Ministry soon. If Scrimgeour doesn't like it, I'll retire on the spot. What's a few days?"
"That's settled, then," he said, leaning on his wooden leg. "I'll handle Scrimgeour. Set me up a spot—I was only planning to pop in and out, didn't bring a thing." He limped toward the back of the tent, presumably to pick a room.
The clunking of his wooden leg faded. Tonks glanced hesitantly at Kingsley, who shrugged, his gold hoop earring glinting as it swayed.
"Look on the bright side," he said calmly. "We've gained a powerful temporary ally. That's good for the mission—we still don't know how Black slipped past the Dementors' watch."
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