"How did I deal with the Basilisk? Well…" Hodge Blackthorn paused, gathering his thoughts. "When the magic took shape, my vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors.
I saw the Basilisk, its scales shimmering like a rainbow, but its eyes—those yellow, gleaming eyes—sprouted countless tendrils from their sockets, like the roots of a tree. I just knew what to do. The magic felt like a giant hand seizing both of the Basilisk's eyes and yanking them out with a mighty tug. Then, well, it was a bit of a mess…" He described his experience with ancient magic in meticulous detail, noticing Dumbledore's eyes twitch slightly. The old wizard sighed. "The process was… rather crude. It could've been more refined. Perhaps it's because it was your first time."
Seeing Dumbledore's expression, Hodge quickly added, "I promise I'll be careful with it. Honestly, I've had this magic for nearly six months and only used it on the Basilisk after a lot of thought."
Dumbledore fell into a thoughtful silence.
After a moment, he spoke in a calm, probing tone. "What do you think, Hodge? Could this magic be used on a Horcrux?"
Hodge's gaze flicked to the diadem on the desk.
He'd considered it before. His plan was to prepare thoroughly, activate the diadem, let Voldemort's soul fragment awaken, and then use the "Basilisk trait" to destroy the lingering soul. That way, there was a chance the diadem itself could be preserved. But Dumbledore's tone suggested a different approach—something else entirely.
Strip the soul fragment from the diadem as if it were a magical property?
Hodge stared at the diadem, lost in thought. His eyes suddenly gleamed, literally glowing with a mix of purple and gold light. As his gaze swept across the circular office, every living creature felt a sensation like a blade scraping across their very essence—not their physical bodies, but something deeper, more intrinsic. When his eyes landed on Fawkes, the phoenix, they erupted with an even more intense burst of color.
"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed lightly.
Hodge turned his attention back to the diadem. As expected, he saw a dark, shadowy mass clinging to it, though the diadem's own magical glow still shimmered faintly within the darkness.
He shook his head. "I can't do it. Not yet, at least." He described exactly what he saw. "The diadem is an alchemical artifact to begin with. The process Voldemort used to make it a Horcrux… it's like he added an extra property to it. It's completely different from the Basilisk. The Basilisk was a living creature—its magical essence, or rather, its magical glow, was distributed in a way that felt… harmonious. The moment I saw it, I sensed a kind of beauty, like it was meant to be that way." A sudden thought struck him, but he continued smoothly, masking his realization. "It's like a perfectly logical blueprint."
"You'd better see it for yourself!"
Without waiting for permission, Hodge pointed his wand. A black cabinet door in the room flew open, and a shallow stone basin soared out. He stared at the Pensieve, though his mind was elsewhere. If ancient magic could reveal the blueprint of a person's life, it could surely detect disharmony—something foreign, like a parasitic soul fragment. Harry Potter! Harry was an incomplete Horcrux.
Normally, creating a Horcrux was an extraordinarily difficult task. But by a twist of fate, the Killing Curse had rebounded, causing a piece of Voldemort's soul to latch onto Harry. Without the usual rituals, it lacked the protections of a true Horcrux. It was like a piece of rubber stuck to a pen—over time, it fused more tightly.
Hodge placed his memories of the ancient magic into the Pensieve, and together, he and Dumbledore reviewed them.
Dumbledore clicked his tongue in amazement. "Thank you, Hodge," he said sincerely. "I can't deny this magic could prove invaluable in the future. Perhaps…" He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment before thanking Hodge again.
Hodge let out a quiet breath of relief. With this, Harry's problem had become everyone's problem.
When Hodge went to the Great Hall for dinner, he saw Hagrid bustling about. Christmas was just around the corner.
Snowflakes danced outside the windows, blanketing the grounds where Sirius Black's footprints once lay and covering the now-dismantled Ministry encampment. Tonks had left a few days earlier, along with the other Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Dementors, and Hogwarts had returned to its usual quiet. The students, tired of the endless newspaper reports, shifted their excitement to the upcoming holiday. Many pitched in, placing candles inside suits of armor or hanging bunches of mistletoe along corridors and staircases.
The school seemed determined to make the holiday festive. At the final feast before the break, the Weird Sisters were invited to perform. As the four long tables groaned under heaps of delicious food, the band stormed the stage—a stage built from Lockhart's old Dueling Club platform. Dressed in deliberately tattered clothes, they grabbed guitars, basses, drums, an accordion, and a cello, playing lively, upbeat tunes. Even the typically dour Defense Against the Dark Arts professor cracked a smile.
Hodge ate until he was stuffed, eventually sharing a slice of mousse cake with Terry. The feast ended with a burst of raucous rock music, and the Weird Sisters left the stage to thunderous applause. Students, rubbing their full bellies, left the Great Hall laughing and chatting, their faces still flushed with excitement.
By the next day, the castle was nearly deserted.
Most students had gone home for Christmas, leaving only a dozen or so behind. Among them, Harry seemed distracted. He'd received word that Sirius Black's trial was scheduled during the holiday, and as a key witness, he had the right to sit in the audience and watch the proceedings. He'd been desperate for this day to come, but now that it was here, he hesitated, flipping through the photo album Hagrid had given him over and over again.
"Don't worry, mate. I'll go with you," Ron said, thumping his chest.
The reassurance lifted Harry's spirits. Over the next few days, he threw himself into games and dueling practice, though he seemed to forget his earlier resolve to talk to Professor Lupin. On the morning of the trial, Harry woke early, sitting on the edge of his bed in a daze, staring blankly ahead. It wasn't until much later that he noticed Ron's bed was empty.
After a while, Ron returned, his face pale and his eyes darting nervously.
"They're calling us," Ron said, swallowing hard, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harry snapped to attention.
He quickly changed, waiting for a dawdling Ron, and the two headed to Professor McGonagall's office. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin were already there, along with someone unexpected—not McGonagall.
"Hodge?" Harry said, surprised.
Hodge nodded in greeting.
"You're coming too?"
"Like you, as a witness."
Harry opened his mouth to clarify that Ron was just tagging along, but Dumbledore rose from his chair and beckoned them toward the fireplace. "The fireplace is temporarily connected to the Ministry, so no need to state your destination. You've all used Floo Powder before, yes? Excellent. Remus, you're first."
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