By February, the snow around Hogwarts had begun to melt, turning the paths to the greenhouses into a muddy mess. Every Herbology class, Terry Boot grumbled about the slog.
One day, Professor Sprout announced with a delighted clap of her hands that the Mandrakes in the greenhouse were finally shaking off their silent, sulky phase and growing lively. In just two weeks, she predicted, they'd throw a raucous party and mature into their full-grown forms.
"Then we can brew the Mandrake Restorative Draught and cure that poor ghost," Professor Sprout said cheerfully. "Dumbledore assures me he'll sort out how the ghost can absorb the potion."
"I'm not sure that's good news," Hodge Blackthorn overheard Ron mutter to Harry and Hermione across a wide table. Harry, thinking of Moaning Myrtle's notorious reputation, cracked a grin. Professor Sprout glanced over, and Hermione quickly shushed him.
As the students gathered to watch Professor Sprout handle the glowing seeds of some luminescent plant, Hodge casually sidled up to the trio. He eyed the purple seeds bobbing in a bucket of potion and lowered his voice. "What did Sirius say?"
"He's on board," Harry whispered back. "Said you're welcome to stay at Grimmauld Place over the summer."
Hermione, who'd been eavesdropping, couldn't resist jumping in. "Hodge, are you planning to borrow some of the Black family's ancient books?"
"Something like that," Hodge nodded. "But it's not just the books. I want to study the house itself." For ancient wizarding families, a historic home was a point of pride, layered with protective and concealment charms by generations past. Studying it was like having a conversation with those long-gone witches and wizards.
"So, Sirius's case is almost over?" Ron asked.
"Not quite," Harry replied.
Even after a month, Harry couldn't shake the memory of that trial. Peter Pettigrew's exposure had shocked everyone. Nobody bought his flimsy excuse of "protecting Harry Potter." After all, Pettigrew had been living with the Weasleys for years—disguised as Ron's brother's pet—long before he crossed paths with Ron.
And then there were the endless articles. Rita Skeeter was in her element, churning out story after story that left the Ministry scrambling. She aimed her quill at Fudge and Barty Crouch, the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The current Head of International Magical Cooperation, Crouch, publicly defended himself, insisting Sirius bore the blame. But no one could deny the fact that Sirius had been thrown into Azkaban without a trial.
After the hearing, Harry and Sirius had a private moment. No one knew what they discussed, but Harry returned looking lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. Sirius, however, was still stuck at the Ministry, dealing with minor issues—like being an unregistered Animagus and the questionable legality of his escape from Azkaban. Compared to Pettigrew, though, his treatment was a breeze.
By early March, the weather had cleared up a bit.
For Hodge Blackthorn, the best news was that his detention was finally over. Yes, detention—because he'd described his encounter with Sirius at the trial in way too much detail. His habit of strolling through the Forbidden Forest had made it into the newspapers as part of his "heroic sleuthing" story, and Hogwarts couldn't ignore it. So, they'd slapped him with detention.
Every Saturday morning, Hodge reported to Professor Flitwick's office. His tasks included sorting letters, and during downtime, he nibbled on pastries. Flitwick wasn't just a professor; he reviewed manuscripts for several magical journals. Hovering nearby, Hodge got to read unpublished but fascinating papers.
This Saturday, Hodge stood on a patch of open ground at Hogwarts. The biting wind stung his face, and passing students hurried by, but Hodge kept warm with a charm. He lingered at the edge of the field, watching a group of sixth-years in the distance. Their instructor, a pale-faced wizard, kept turning to eye him suspiciously.
The sixth-years were taking Apparition lessons, and Hodge was secretly observing.
It wasn't about saving the twelve-Galleon registration fee.
The instructor went over the key points of Apparition again before letting the students try it themselves, offering pointers as he roamed the field. Eventually, he wandered over to Hodge.
"Hello," the pale wizard said, frowning. "You're a younger student, aren't you?"
"Second year," Hodge replied.
"We're holding Apparition lessons. It's a sixth-year elective."
"Which is why I'm standing way over here," Hodge said, scratching his ear. He was practicing a Listening Charm, and the wizard's voice boomed like thunder in his ears.
The instructor gave him a puzzled look, found nothing amiss, and walked off. From a distance, Hodge overheard Percy Weasley reciting Apparition tips while spinning in place. A few spots away, Penelope Clearwater and two Ravenclaw girls were huddled together, swapping stories of their failures.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream rang out. Hodge's eyes widened at a horrifying sight: a boy's body had split in half. His legs and waist stayed rooted to the ground, while his upper half appeared inside a wooden hoop several feet away. Despite reading about it, seeing a splinch in person was a first. The boy's body didn't collapse into the mud as Hodge expected; it hung in midair, as if his halves were still connected by some invisible rule.
Like a spatial glitch, Hodge thought.
The pale instructor hurried over. With a loud pop and a puff of purple smoke, the boy's body was reassembled. He collapsed, pale and shaken, and two students helped him to a bench to recover.
"Splinching," the instructor said calmly, "happens when your resolve wavers. I told you: keep your focus on the destination. Don't panic. Stay composed… like this." He spread his arms, spun lightly, and vanished with elegance, reappearing a few feet away.
Hodge suddenly had the wild urge to "flip through" the man's mind.
He quickly suppressed the impulse. To be precise, it wasn't flipping through but extracting memories. He was confident he could learn magic by tapping into someone else's recollections. The thought sent a shiver down his spine—it was unsettling, to say the least. Better to stick to safer ideas, like figuring out how to channel a Basilisk's magical traits into a spell or exploring dragon liver's detoxifying properties.
Hodge stayed until the lesson ended, leaving satisfied. The sixth-years dispersed, muttering complaints about the course's difficulty. It was their second lesson, and not one had succeeded yet.
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