Dumbledore stepped out of the flames, a bird—not particularly large, slightly smaller than an owl—swirling in a whirlwind of gold and crimson, landing before Harry.
The phoenix leaned its head toward Harry's neck, where large, pearl-like tears fell from its eyes, and the swollen wound began to heal gradually.
Hodge Blackthorn watched it all unfold.
His new magic allowed him to create a unique bridge using magical energy between a wizard and a fresh dragon's liver, harnessing the liver's potent toxicity to absorb poisons from the patient's body.
The liver's ability to detoxify was key. The challenge lay in making the dragon's liver believe it was part of Harry's body. Hodge had been up close with dragons before and had even mimicked their essence. With a fierce act of will, he could twist his magic into something ambiguous, activating the liver's vitality and tricking it into thinking, "Ah, I'm still alive."
As a result, this magic didn't just neutralize poison—it could counter curses, hexes, negative conditions, and diseases. In short, whatever a dragon could do, Hodge's new magic could replicate, albeit at a fraction of the power.
Dumbledore leapt down from the platform. For someone his age, his movements were remarkably agile. He carefully examined Harry, and after a moment, Harry's eyelids fluttered twice before he opened his eyes, looking as though he'd just woken from a nap.
"Professor Dumbledore…" Harry's head tilted to one side, and his eyes closed again.
Dumbledore gently shook him awake.
Forced back to consciousness, Harry seemed dazed for a moment. After a few seconds, his gaze sharpened, landing on Dumbledore's reassuring face. He grabbed the headmaster's arm tightly and said urgently, "Professor Dumbledore, it's Voldemort! It was him—I can feel it!"
Ministry of Magic workers stationed nearby, patrolling or standing guard, occasionally glanced at the small group. What had they just heard? Someone openly saying You-Know-Who's name? Merlin's beard, and it wasn't just one person— it was as if the boldest people in the wizarding world had all gathered in one place, inspiring a reluctant admiration.
"Hold on, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to Amelia Bones. "Amelia, please fetch Fudge. He needs to hear this himself." Madam Bones nodded and immediately sent someone off. Dumbledore continued, "Sirius, inform Harry's uncle to head home for now. Harry will return in a few days. Tell his aunt and uncle not to worry."
Sirius stiffened, clearly wanting to protest, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him.
"I know you have questions, but let's address the most urgent matters first."
With that, Sirius hurried off, and Hodge went to explain the situation to his parents. When he returned, the conversation had shifted to a train carriage, where a spell had expanded the interior space. Hodge noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled in a corner, listening intently. Soon after, Fudge arrived, accompanied by a few figures standing in the shadows.
Sirius began recounting the events, with Harry and Hodge adding details. Perhaps because Sirius was an adult, or because he didn't know critical secrets—like the Horcruxes or why the giant snake had gone after Harry's blood—Dumbledore picked up on those details from Hodge's contributions.
"So, is You-Know-Who dead or alive?" Amelia Bones asked.
"He's lost his power, his physical form," Dumbledore said calmly, "but Voldemort is still alive. Unlike a ghost, he has the potential to regain his strength. As for his connection with Quirrell…" He glanced at Hodge.
"It might have something to do with my paper," Hodge said, explaining the principles behind his research. "Quirrell was at Hogwarts back then. He asked me specific questions about the details. Looking back, I think he was mentally simulating Voldemort's state. Don't forget, Voldemort was possessing Quirrell at the time, meaning Quirrell's soul was wide open to him."
Not just open—Quirrell had practically thrown himself at Voldemort, offering everything and taking whatever he wanted.
From Voldemort's attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone last year, to the diary causing havoc this year, to the recent attack at the station, everyone present felt a storm brewing. The Dark Lord seemed to be gathering strength in the shadows, growing more powerful. If he suddenly reappeared one day, it wouldn't be surprising.
Fudge remained silent throughout. When the discussion ended, he stood, put on his bowler hat, and said, "Amelia, send Aurors to track down Quirrell's whereabouts. And the investigation into You-Know-Who… it's in your hands." His face was grim as he avoided Dumbledore's gaze. "Recall the team from the Albanian forest as well. They're under your command."
"And you, Minister?" Bones asked.
"I have a meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister," Fudge said stiffly. "Apparently, the Muggles have held two protests, demanding we root out those 'superpowered freaks.' That fool thinks I have a solution. Damn it, those people aren't wizards! What do their bank robberies have to do with me?" He stormed off, fuming.
The group exchanged glances.
"Is it really that bad?" Ron whispered.
Harry and Hermione shook their heads, but Hodge knew a bit more. His parents often sent him newspaper clippings along with clothes and sweets, though, with their busy jobs, they couldn't collect everything. Some information he had to find himself.
"You could check the library during the holidays," Hodge suggested.
Hermione nodded instinctively, but Harry looked confused. He knew Hodge wasn't talking about the Hogwarts library, but he'd never been to a Muggle library and didn't even know which way the door opened.
Over the next few days, Hodge stayed at Grimmauld Place until the situation stabilized, then returned home. During that time, he asked Dumbledore to place protective charms on his family's home. If Voldemort truly returned, Hodge planned to convince his parents to take a trip abroad for a while. Meanwhile, Harry spent only one night at Grimmauld Place before Dumbledore personally escorted him back to the Dursleys. Sirius wanted to object, but Dumbledore persuaded him, promising to bring Harry back in two weeks.
"Sneaky old man, dodging the big cleanup," Ron grumbled.
He had reason to complain. Mr. Weasley had recently won the Daily Prophet's annual grand prize, and the family had planned a trip, but now it was postponed, possibly canceled. Going from sunny pyramids to a damp, creepy old house was quite the downgrade. Hodge helped clean for two days, managing to make a few rooms livable. The rest—like the row of severed house-elf heads on the wall or the shrieking portrait of Sirius's mother—was left for later.
Grimmauld Place was bustling with people coming and going, many of whom Hodge didn't recognize. He suspected Dumbledore had reactivated the Order of the Phoenix. When things quieted down, he decided to head home. Ron looked utterly defeated.
"I'll be back, alright? That's that," Hodge said, bidding farewell to Ron, who was clutching a rag and bucket. He slipped out of the moldy old house, which wasn't yet a Fidelius-charmed safehouse but merely a temporary base. Knowing the entry and exit passwords, Hodge could return anytime.
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