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"...I'm not sure if I should tell you this. Someone in the support group awakened their magic, which is shocking because Jamie is fifty years old. She said it felt like a dream. Your experiences are somewhat similar, come to think of it. Both of you were recently hospitalized, though she only had a minor cold and didn't think much of it. She kept drinking tea and attending gatherings as usual. About a week later, she got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and suddenly noticed the cup moving on its own!
I think you know what this means.
It's a bit odd, but she's considering applying for a wand. Given her age, though, I doubt it'll see much use. Love, Mum.
P.S. Your dad was next to me while I wrote this. He wants you to take more photos at school. He's sent a few more rolls of film."
Hodge turned to Terry, who was sitting nearby. "Can you imagine someone awakening their magic at fifty?"
"You're joking?" Terry said, wide-eyed.
"It's hard to believe," Hodge muttered. "Like someone about to protest at the Ministry suddenly vanishing from a hospital… Maybe I should write a letter. No, two letters."
He hurriedly finished breakfast and made his way to the library, heading straight for the newspaper section. Flipping through the stacks, he quickly found an issue of The Quibbler. His eyes scanned the article titled "Accident or Hidden Truth? A Conspiracy to Upend the Wizarding World," darting over key phrases: "rushed to St. Mungo's," "a Ministry investigation team," "name struck from the hospital roster."
He pulled out a chair, sat down, and began piecing things together.
About two weeks ago, he'd left the Sherlock Holmes Museum and fallen into a coma due to a magical accident, landing him in St. Mungo's. At the same time, wizards living near London had been affected, experiencing dizziness, hallucinations, and memory lapses. The timing was identical. As for the scope of the incident, Evelina Selma had estimated it covered a few dozen kilometers around central London, with effects fading further out.
The Ministry had likely sent people to investigate.
That wasn't surprising. With an event this big, as The Daily Prophet put it, "a third of the Ministry staff were sleepwalking." You could imagine the chaos.
But what happened next? Neither Professor McGonagall nor the newspapers mentioned any credible evidence from the Ministry.
Would the Ministry just let it drop?
One possibility was that they were still investigating in secret, with Aurors spread out, gathering information. Another was that they'd found some clues but were keeping them under wraps.
Following this line of thought, Mr. Wickham might have played a key role.
Or maybe he'd just disappeared by chance.
Given The Quibbler's sensationalist tone, it wasn't impossible. Hodge found it hard to take much seriously amid its parade of outlandish stories.
His mother's letter had sparked an idea—or rather, a hunch. That same hunch had stirred faintly when Professor McGonagall told him, "Your name isn't in the Book of Magic."
Maybe, in time, there'd be another "Jamie." Another "Hodge."
Hodge started writing.
The first letter was to Evelina Selma:
"...By now, St. Mungo's is probably buzzing with tales of the trainee Healer who took down a troll. I sincerely hope it doesn't scare the patients.
I need your help with something.
Around the time I was hospitalized, did you hear any rumors about a Ministry investigation team? If so, could you find out how long they stayed and what they did? The more details, the better.
Best wishes."
After a moment's thought, Hodge added Hermione's thanks to Evelina at the end.
The second letter was to The Quibbler's editor. Hodge still didn't buy the idea of Fudge conspiring with dark wizards—that was absurd—but maybe the editor could share more details about Mr. Wickham, like his appearance, personality, or what he'd been up to.
The article mentioned Wickham opposing Fudge's policies but didn't specify what he opposed.
After finishing both letters, Hodge rushed to class, mailing them during a break.
Then came the long wait.
He figured it'd take at least a week to get replies, whether clear or vague. Over the next few days, Hodge attended classes, kept an eye on newspapers, and practiced dueling spells.
He'd mastered Expelliarmus, Reducto, and Stupefy and was now grappling with Protego.
When consulting Professor Flitwick, Hodge "tactfully" shared his thoughts on recent makeup lessons—subjects like History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts, he could easily catch up on through self-study.
Flitwick was understanding and readily agreed. After all, Professor Binns and Professor Quirrell were infamous at Hogwarts—for all the wrong reasons.
That evening, Hodge went to the Potions office for a makeup lesson. He'd been there twice before and knew the routine.
But this time, other students were present. When Snape let him in, Hodge thought he'd spotted Percy. Wait, no—there couldn't be two Percys.
"Are you Weasleys?" Hodge asked when Snape stepped out to fetch potion ingredients.
"Fred."
"George."
"Thanks for saving our idiot brother," the twins said in unison.
They were handling a bucket of slimy, tentacled slugs. Judging by their grimaces and practiced movements, this wasn't their first rodeo.
Hodge glanced into the bucket and quickly looked away.
He'd seen slugs before, but one was very different from a bucketful.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Payback," one twin said.
"For winning the match," the other added.
"Maybe a few other things."
"Don't recall. Oh, wait—we were discussing why he walks on two legs when he's been limping for a while."
"Shame it's not permanent. I was hoping someone'd gift him a cane for Christmas."
"Maybe you were too loud, and Snape thought saying it out loud jinxed it."
Footsteps approached, and the twins fell silent. Snape returned with potion ingredients.
"Cough potion," he said, setting the materials down and waving his wand. "Instructions are on the board. Need me to name the ingredients?"
"No, Professor Snape," Hodge replied.
Hodge pulled out his cauldron, scales, and vials, then opened Magical Drafts and Potions, identifying ingredients and reviewing the steps. Snape watched for a moment, found no fault, and turned his icy gaze to the Weasley twins.
"You'd better speed up," he said coldly. "I didn't invite you here to relax after hours. Oh, and don't forget the other bucket in the corner." With a sweep of his robes, he left.
"He calls this relaxing?" one Weasley said, incredulous.
Hodge worked on his potion while listening to the twins banter. Soon, the left Weasley and the right Weasley were bickering fiercely. In between, they casually mentioned two secret passages to Hodge.
"Lee told us you got lost in the castle, wandering for two days until you bribed Mrs. Norris to find your dorm…"
An hour later, Hodge bottled his potion and handed it to Snape for inspection, secretly hoping the twins would be stuck in the Potions office a bit longer.
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