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Emerging from the Charms classroom, Hodge Blackthorn found himself with nothing to do. There were no classes in the afternoon, and with the weekend approaching, he had two and a half days of free time.
After some thought, he decided to follow Professor Flitwick's advice.
He wrote a letter to his family to let them know he was doing fine, then headed to the Owlery to send it. Thanks to directions from a prefect named Creevey, he made his way to the top of the West Tower. In a chilly stone room, among hundreds of owls, he spotted Nyx.
"You're settling in fast. Didn't even come back to your cage last night," Hodge remarked.
He pulled a handful of owl treats from his pocket and fed them to Nyx. Once she'd finished, he tied the letter to her leg. "Deliver it to either of my parents, and don't let the neighbors see you."
Nyx hooted twice, nipped his finger affectionately, and spread her wings, soaring into the distance.
Hodge lingered by the tower window, watching her shrink to a gray speck in the sky before heading downstairs. On his way back, he ran into Evelina Selma, who was saying her goodbyes. She was returning to St. Mungo's to continue her internship.
"Don't forget to write! I won't be back at Hogwarts until April next year," she said.
Hodge felt a pang of sadness at Evelina's departure, but he soon lost himself in the library's vast collection. Unlike his rushed glimpse of the library the day before, he now had plenty of time to explore. The sight of thousands of shelves, holding tens of thousands of books—all related to magic—was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
The next few days passed as if someone had installed a progress bar in his brain.
When he finally snapped out of it, it was Sunday afternoon. Over the weekend, he'd spent mornings in the library and afternoons wandering the castle, making significant progress in both pursuits.
When he learned that A Guide to Dueling Charms had been returned to the common room, he immediately submitted a borrowing request to Madam Pince. He hadn't finished reading it and planned to copy down the spells that caught his interest for further study.
He also tracked down Understanding Your Mind, the book mentioned in the mysterious note. He'd briefly worried it might be hidden in the Restricted Section, guarded by advanced magic, but to his surprise, it was sitting plainly on shelf 133a, available for anyone to pick up.
After reading it closely, Hodge found the book incredibly helpful, clearing up many of his questions.
He flipped to the third chapter, zeroing in on what he needed most—or rather, what the note's sender thought he needed most.
The chapter covered a wide range of topics: interviews with Obliviators, the magical principles behind Memory Charms, and several common memory-related spells. A few pages in, Hodge's excitement surged. He held his breath as he read:
"Legilimency and Occlumency are like two sides of the same coin, or perhaps a spear and a shield.
Legilimency is the ability to delve into the layered thoughts of others through magic, interpreting them accurately. It's not the simplistic 'mind-reading' Muggles obsess over but a far more sophisticated art. While even skilled practitioners struggle to invade another's mind without provoking a strong reaction, masters of the craft can use their experience and emotional insight to predict a target's behavior with uncanny accuracy.
To a true master, those with fiery tempers or unchecked emotions are as transparent as a comic strip, their thoughts laid bare.
Curiously, Legilimency was long thought to be a human invention until the discovery of the Kneazle in the seventeenth century proved that magical creatures could possess this ability as well.
Occlumency, by contrast, is its counterpart.
It's a magic used to shield one's mind from intrusion, whether by spells, potions, or other probing methods.
At its most basic, Occlumency involves emptying the mind—ceasing to think, recall, or feel—to block external attempts at access. More advanced techniques allow the user to seal off specific thoughts, emotions, or memories, creating a flawless 'facade' to mislead intruders.
Compared to Legilimency, Occlumency is far less popular. Not only is it exceptionally difficult to learn, but it offers little immediate gratification and few opportunities for practice. History is littered with self-proclaimed Occlumency masters who were later exposed as frauds.
Notably, some extraordinarily gifted witches and wizards are born with an innate mastery of this skill.
These individuals can also craft remarkably stable magical artifacts. Between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, alchemical objects called 'Witch Houses' (Huànwū in the original text, lit. 'Illusory Dwellings') were popular. Some who stumbled into them believed they'd entered a secret, hidden world, only to be released later by the alchemists who created them.
With the enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy, such incidents faded into Muggle folklore.
However, Occlumency carries risks if misused. Common side effects include obsession with fantasies, mistaking false memories for reality, arrogance, and drastic personality changes. As such, it demands strong willpower and emotional control from those who study it."
…
Hodge closed the book, stretched, and pushed aside a stack of scattered parchment.
He was now certain that his magical talent stemmed from what the Sorting Hat had called his "natural mastery of Occlumency," not some external boon. The evidence aligned, with only minor discrepancies in the details.
But a new question loomed: what was the note-sender's intent? Were they encouraging him, warning him, or urging caution against rushing in too eagerly?
Unable to puzzle it out, he set the matter aside for now.
Over the past two days, he'd also been working on another project: creating a map of Hogwarts. He'd made decent progress. On one sheet of parchment, he'd drawn three circles: the central one for the castle, the lower-left for the Black Lake, and the right for the Forbidden Forest. Lines extended from the castle, marking various locations—greenhouses, vegetable patches, the Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest gamekeeper's hut, the forest itself, and the school gates.
Starting from the castle's Entrance Hall, he'd measured every step, explored every room, and chatted with every portrait willing to talk. Gradually, the notes on his stack of parchment grew more detailed.
Leaving the library, Hodge continued sketching the castle's layout in a small notebook. But as he exited the trophy room on the fourth floor, trouble found him. A scrawny cat blocked his path, perched atop an ugly, one-eyed witch statue, staring down at him imperiously.
"Here, have some food," Hodge offered, holding out a handful of owl treats.
The cat didn't budge, utterly unimpressed.
Hodge shrugged and snapped a photo with his camera. The shutter's click startled the cat, which bolted in a flash.
Less than thirty seconds later, the castle caretaker, Filch, appeared, huffing and wheezing.
"Breaking school rules! Detention!" he barked.
"The rule-breaker's already gone," Hodge replied calmly.
"What—" Filch squinted at him suspiciously, then glanced at Mrs. Norris. Her bulging eyes were fixed on Hodge, a low whine escaping her throat.
"You're lying, boy. You're the only one here."
"It's always been just me," Hodge said. "But weren't you looking for someone breaking rules? Maybe your cat led you astray."
"The right corridor on the fourth floor is off-limits—"
"I know. Anthony told me it's dangerous, easy to get into trouble there. For what it's worth, I just came from the trophy room."
Filch wasn't used to students answering back so smoothly, and his irritation flared.
"Which house are you in? What's your name?" he snapped, yanking out a roll of parchment and a quill.
Hodge wasn't fazed. He even entertained the thought of what he'd say if Filch dragged him to Professor Flitwick—who, if he recalled correctly, had encouraged him to explore the castle.
"Hodge Blackthorn. Pleasure to meet you. By the way, your cat looks a bit malnourished."
"Mind your own business! Mrs. Norris is fine, aren't you?" Filch licked the quill's tip, muttering, "Hodge… Black… thorn…" He paused, his expression shifting to something peculiar as he stared at Hodge.
"You're that new kid?" Filch asked abruptly.
Hodge raised an eyebrow.
"You know, the transfer," Filch said impatiently. "I heard some things. They say you're a Squib—"
"I'm not."
"Quiet, let me finish!" Filch snarled, cutting him off. Then, as if a switch had flipped, the wrinkles on his face softened, rearranging into a hopeful, almost ingratiating expression.
"I heard you couldn't do magic before… but after some kind of magical accident, you were out cold for days, and then you could cast spells…" Filch's voice slowed, his bulging eyes studying Hodge intently.
Suddenly, Filch seemed to deflate, all his energy draining away. He shuffled off dejectedly, leaving Mrs. Norris behind.
Hodge could guess why. Filch was a Squib himself. Perhaps, like Hodge, he'd been chasing the truth behind that magical accident, hoping for a miracle. But the slim chance of success must have felt too fragile to face a disappointing answer head-on.
A flicker of sympathy stirred in Hodge, but it vanished quickly. He hadn't forgotten how eagerly Filch had tried to slap him with detention just moments ago.
He scooped up Mrs. Norris.
"Come on, you ungrateful thing. Since you don't like owl treats, let's get you some dried fish instead."
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