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Terry collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep the moment he returned to the dormitory.
Hodge sat at the desk, meticulously jotting down everything he'd heard about Waffling's ideas in his notebook, planning to mull them over later. Meanwhile, a different plan was already forming in his mind—not related to Waffling's wild notions, but inspired by his own talent as an Occlumency prodigy.
He closed the notebook. Inside were his scattered thoughts and valuable snippets: notes on South American customs, spells from The Duelist's Guide to Magic, and partial sketches of Hogwarts Castle. Flipping back a couple of pages revealed his investigation into the origin of it all—the magical accident. The latest entry read: Awaiting reply.
The next morning, Hodge pinned a notice to the Ravenclaw common room bulletin board, timed perfectly for when most students wandered by after waking up.
Soon, a small crowd gathered, drawn by the notice's bold text:
Club Preview Event!
Struggling with tedious Charms practice? Worried about falling behind? Maybe you need a fresh, exciting way to learn! It's fun, it's new, and it's already worked for others! Open to students in third year and below. Sign up below if interested.
First meeting: Saturday morning. Limited spots.
The signature was eye-catching, scrawled in a wild, flourishing script that clashed with the neat text above, perfectly matching the club's name—The Whimsy Club, Hodge Blackthorn.
"Wow," a second-year said to his friend. "The name alone sounds intriguing."
"It clashes with the Gobstones Club," his friend replied.
They wandered off. But the common room was bustling, and curiosity spread. When Hodge dashed back during a break between classes, six names were already scrawled on the list—including his three roommates.
Word spread fast. By lunchtime in the Great Hall, students kept approaching Hodge to ask about the club's plans, but he brushed them off with a vague, "Don't want to spoil the fun." Rumors soon spiraled, with some claiming he'd demonstrate a Blasting Curse strong enough to take down a troll.
Annoyed by the interruptions, Hodge was relieved when the post owls swooped in. Two landed before him, their feathers damp with the chill of late November's frost.
Hodge fed the owls his lunch, then eagerly tore open the first letter.
It was from The Quibbler's publishing house, signed by Editor Xenophilius Lovegood. The letter was brief, starting with:
Dear Hodge, enjoying your new school?
Hodge raised an eyebrow at the slightly clumsy handwriting.
The letter continued:
Father—Mr. Lovegood to you—is busy tending the garden. Weeding takes time, so he asked me to reply. Mr. Lovegood assures you his claims are true. There's proof in the envelope.
That was it. Hodge stared, realizing Luna had written the reply. He rummaged through the envelope and pulled out a photograph. The man in it was cheerful, with light hair, a long, narrow face, grey eyes, and a clean-shaven chin. He waved enthusiastically at Hodge.
Hodge flipped the photo over. The back read: Balsa Wickham, missing since October 25, still unreturned. Well, if that counted as evidence, at least he now knew what Wickham looked like.
At the bottom of the letter, in tiny script, was Luna's personal note:
If you can, please check if the winged boars at Hogwarts' main gate are doing well. I've been worried since my brief holiday there last year. By the way, in case you didn't know, they have wings.
Hodge set the peculiar letter aside after a moment.
He picked up the second letter, silently praying Evelina Selma's reply would be more normal. But his hopes faltered—he froze. The address wasn't St. Mungo's, but an unfamiliar one. The signature read: Elaine Blackthorn.
Blackthorn… The surname sent a ripple through him.
Holding his breath, he read: Dear Hodge, my nephew. Hodge blinked, bewildered. When I heard you were at Hogwarts, I wanted to write immediately, but I was hosting tourists in a terribly remote place.
Your journey is nothing short of miraculous. I thought I'd never get the chance to write to you again.
We met a few times—before you were six. But after you started primary school, your mother forbade me from visiting. I assume that restriction no longer applies.
I work for a travel agency now, always on the move. I've included the agency's address; you can send letters there. I'd be happy to answer any questions…
Hodge racked his brain, vaguely recalling a short, slightly comical man his mother had indeed called "Elaine."
I have a Blackthorn relative, he thought, dazed.
After a while, he sorted his thoughts. He decided not to reply yet—not until he could ask his mother about this "Elaine." Later that evening, Hodge began preparing for the club. He spent hours in the library, gathering useful materials.
It was a challenging but manageable task. He just needed to align his approach with his own experiences, crafting a pitch similar to how he'd guided Terry with the Levitation Charm. The difference? This time, he'd face a larger audience.
He also bought a few scented candles and a potion vial from a senior named Carmichael.
Professor Flitwick offered some advice as well.
On Saturday morning, Hodge and his roommates arrived at an empty classroom provided by Flitwick. They rearranged it according to Hodge's vision. At one point, Hodge slipped out, returning with a jug of pumpkin juice and several goblets.
Now, they just had to wait.
Soon, Bradley and Chandis arrived together, greeting Michael Corner, a fellow Quidditch club member. Half a minute later, Stephen Cornfoot, a same-year student, poked his head through the door. "Phew, thought I got the wrong room. Hi, Hodge." Next came Lisa Turpin. A bit later, the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati, strolled in.
Terry counted heads. "Seven boys, three girls—ten total. Not bad. Is that everyone?"
"One more," Hodge said. "She's not here to join—oh, hi, Penelope."
Penelope Clearwater, with her long, curly hair, stepped in.
"As you can see," Hodge announced, "Clearwater's a responsible prefect. She's just here to check on things."
At that moment, a commotion erupted in the corridor outside.
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