Hodge wasn't facing Voldemort for the first time, but judging by today's encounter, the Voldemort who had briefly possessed Quirrell's body last year hadn't shown much of his true power.
His spells were strong, no doubt, but they paled in comparison to the overwhelming pressure Hodge felt on the platform just moments ago.
Another question gnawed at him: how could Voldemort possess Quirrell's body? In the wizarding world, body-snatching was rare, almost unheard of. Yet the evidence was undeniable.
Hodge fell into deep thought, his expression turning strange. Could it be… because of him? He recalled discussing magic with Quirrell, particularly that paper—still imperfect in hindsight. Quirrell had tried to emulate Voldemort in his mind, hoping to amplify his own spellcasting ability. The problem was, Voldemort's fragmented soul was already lurking in Quirrell's body.
Was it possible that the experiment wasn't ineffective, but rather too effective, leaving Quirrell's soul completely defenseless against Voldemort's influence?
In his mind, Hodge played out a little drama: after last year's failure, Voldemort's remnant soul wandered for a full year, eventually realizing he could make use of Quirrell—a discarded pawn. No, that wasn't quite right. Thinking back to the search team Fudge had sent out, it was likely they had disturbed Voldemort, hidden in the Albanian forests, allowing him to overhear some snippet of information. So, Voldemort turned his attention to St. Mungo's, perhaps not even certain it would work. But when he tried, the results were astonishingly effective.
A group of official-looking figures approached.
"Who attacked you, Blackthorn?" a cold, clipped voice demanded.
Sirius Black's face froze when he saw the speaker. It was Barty Crouch, the man who had sent him to Azkaban. Hesitantly, Sirius replied, "I don't know them, but it must be someone controlled by Voldemort."
During the fight, he'd overheard fragments of Hodge's conversation with Quirrell. He couldn't fathom how someone's body could be taken over, so he assumed Voldemort had used some dark, sinister magic to control the person and speak through them directly.
Crouch turned his gaze to Hodge.
Hodge studied him in return. Barty Crouch was rigid and meticulous, his short gray hair impeccably combed, his posture ramrod straight despite being in his fifties. His stern face contrasted sharply with the portly wizard beside him, who was glancing around nervously. As soon as Crouch finished speaking, the plump wizard eagerly extended a chubby hand to shake Sirius's.
"Hello, Sirius, hello! So pleased to meet you," Ludo Bagman said with enthusiasm. "I've heard so much about you. Congratulations on having your contributions during the war finally recognized! I've always wanted to meet you, but Amelia wouldn't allow it…" He sighed, his round blue eyes filled with disapproval. "If you ask me, you're obviously innocent. Going to a Quidditch match or two wouldn't hurt anyone… especially not that crucial Wimbourne Wasps game. I had to pull strings to get those tickets!"
Sirius stared at Bagman's round belly, barely concealed by his loose, garishly patterned robes. Just then, Amelia Bones approached, followed by a few investigators who were tsking at the rubble strewn across the platform while gathering useful information.
"Sirius, Hodge," she said, nodding to them both. "I'm terribly sorry you were attacked. The Ministry will investigate this thoroughly. Do you know anything that might help?"
Hodge shared his theory, and Bones looked stunned. "You're saying Voldemort's remnant soul possessed Quirrell's body—and it's not dark magic at work?"
Crouch's expression darkened with disapproval. At that moment, Hermione's frantic voice cut through the air. "Harry—Harry! Hodge, Harry's passed out! The snake venom—it's taking effect!"
Hodge rushed over, but Sirius was faster. Bones, Crouch, and Bagman followed closely behind. By the gravel-covered tracks, Hermione knelt beside an unconscious Harry, helpless.
"I stopped the bleeding," she said quickly, "but the venom's unaffected. I've tried every common spell I know." She rattled off the magic she'd used, her words precise despite her panic. The others could see Harry's dire state: his face was deathly pale, a fist-sized, purplish bruise swelled at his neck, with black, web-like tendrils radiating outward like crawling centipedes. His breathing was rapid and shallow, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Then get him to St. Mungo's—what are we waiting for?" Sirius urged, his voice tight with worry.
"There's no time," Hodge said, examining Harry's face closely. "Madam Bones, I'll stabilize Harry for now. Please contact Professor Dumbledore immediately and ask him to bring his phoenix."
Crouch's tone was severe. "Amelia, you can't let a student take charge. Sending Potter to St. Mungo's is the best—"
"Do you want Harry to die?" Hodge asked curiously.
Crouch's eyes bulged.
"That's St. Mungo's! Every senior healer there has more experience with antidotes than you have years alive, boy!"
"I know," Hodge replied calmly. "That's what makes it so impressive that a patient who slipped out of St. Mungo's could kill the Chosen One." Bagman tried to defuse the tension, but no one paid him any mind. Sirius, Ron, and Hermione shared a wary glance, their distrust of Quirrell's origins outweighing their faith in St. Mungo's. They trusted Hodge—or rather, they trusted Dumbledore.
"Amelia, please notify Dumbledore," Sirius said, changing his stance.
Bones hesitated for two seconds, Hodge's mention of Quirrell's escape from St. Mungo's sparking a realization. She summoned two of her team. "Sweet, get the best healer from St. Mungo's—someone skilled with antidotes. Commons, contact Professor Dumbledore. You know what to do. Tell him Harry's been attacked on the platform, poisoned by snake venom, and we need phoenix tears."
After giving her orders, she turned to Hodge. "Are you certain you can handle this?"
Hodge said softly, "I'm not a healer, but when it comes to antidotes—especially snake venom—I'm quite confident."
That wasn't entirely true.
Harry's condition wasn't caused by ordinary snake venom. The serpent, Nagini, wasn't a true snake but a woman, a Maledictus cursed to shift between human and snake form, destined to eventually lose her humanity entirely, her memories and identity erased.
Harry's life hung by a thread. Transporting him to St. Mungo's and waiting for a diagnosis would take at least ten minutes, and even the best healer wouldn't immediately recognize the true nature of the poison. Treating it as standard snake venom would waste precious time, leaving Harry's survival to chance. Beyond that, Voldemort's sudden attack left Hodge uneasy. Dumbledore needed to take control of the situation—because as long as Harry was still breathing, a phoenix could save him.
Hodge wasn't unprepared.
With a flick of his wand, a large trunk flew toward him, its latches springing open. He pulled a vial of antidote from a small pouch and poured it into Harry's mouth. Then, he retrieved a piece of fresh dragon liver wrapped in parchment—a bargain he'd snagged earlier. Under everyone's watchful eyes, Hodge used magic to draw a fine thread, connecting the swollen bruise on Harry's neck to the dragon liver.
Almost instantly, the web-like tendrils of poison stopped spreading and began to fade. Hodge lightly ran a finger over the bruise, slicing a small incision with magic. Black, pus-like blood oozed out.
Harry's color improved, his breathing steadying.
Soon, two green-robed healers arrived. They examined Harry's condition and immediately began analyzing the black blood from the wound. Minutes later, they exchanged a surprised glance.
"This isn't normal snake venom," one healer said.
The other nodded. "It seems infused with a cursed power. Very tricky."
As she spoke, a burst of orange-red flames erupted before the platform.
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