Simulating Voldemort's shadow in one's mind?
Even as the author of the paper, Hodge Blackthorn couldn't definitively say whether this was a good or bad idea for Quirrell. But one thing was undeniable: the concept was bold, borderline insane, and bursting with creativity—enough to make even Hodge want to applaud.
As for potential risks? Quirrell clearly didn't care, and Hodge wasn't worried for him either—surely it couldn't be worse than being possessed by Voldemort himself.
Hodge idly picked up a pebble, tossing it in his hand as he sank into thought. After a long pause, he muttered to himself, "I think I know someone brilliant I haven't consulted yet. What a waste…"
"What's a waste?" a lively voice chirped behind him.
Hodge turned around.
"Penelope? And… Percy?" He blinked in surprise at the pair standing on the steps. Penelope met his gaze with her usual confidence, while Percy, looking awkward, tilted his head to the side, pretending to admire the scenery.
Only when Hodge greeted them did Percy reluctantly turn his face back. "Hello, Hodge. Good to see you. Ahem, I mean, I heard about your paper. Seems like you took my advice to heart, which is… good."
Hodge quickly cut him off. "Why are you two together?"
The question came out a bit suggestive, and Percy's freckled cheeks flushed noticeably. "Helping Professor Sprout," Penelope said with a shrug, shooting Percy an exasperated glance. "The third greenhouse has a batch of plants ready for harvest. They're a bit dangerous, so it needs experienced hands. And this Weasley here volunteered himself—and dragged me along."
"It's a good opportunity," Percy mumbled, stumbling over his words. "Machiavelli's got the flu."
Hodge guessed this Machiavelli was likely Hufflepuff's prefect.
As the two passed by, Penelope noticed a folded piece of parchment pinned under a stone. "Still working on your paper?" she asked casually.
"Something like that."
"Couldn't be tougher than Waffling's theories, could it?" Penelope teased. She vaguely recalled Hodge name-dropping the famous theoretical magician to bolster his paper's credibility.
"Well, if we're comparing, Waffling's stuff is harder. Want to see?" Hodge tossed the pebble to Penelope. She instinctively reached out to catch it, but the stone traced a parabolic arc, then abruptly veered downward at its peak, plummeting straight to the ground.
Percy and Penelope stared, dumbfounded.
"Did you use a spell? A silent one? At your age, that's impossible—" Percy frowned. "You didn't even use your wand…"
"Related to Waffling's theories?" Penelope ventured, connecting the dots to their earlier conversation.
Hodge gave a slight nod. "I convinced the stone that following a boring old parabola was too predictable. Why not try something new, like a sail shape? But as you can see, I only got this far. I couldn't fully trick it into believing it's, say, a bird." Seeing their blank expressions, he added, "Oh, right. I infused some magic into the stone before you showed up."
This time, Percy and Penelope caught on.
Of course, it wasn't that simple. Adalbert Waffling's theory posited that magic itself had a form of thought—chaotic and fragmented, requiring a wizard to channel it into effects. After approaching it from a more abstract, rational angle, Hodge summarized it as: magic possesses a kind of quasi-sentience, capable of briefly retaining and sustaining a wizard's intent.
In a way, it was like a Muggle invention—a compact disc that could store and run a program.
Though complex and novel, even witches and wizards unfamiliar with the theory could see it in action: the ever-burning flames in the castle, the spinning staircases, alchemical tools… Even spells cast by wizards didn't vanish the moment magical input stopped.
But this was no ordinary feat. Hodge had essentially created a new spell. If he had to name it, maybe "Plummeting Stone Charm" (Note: Original term 悬石急坠咒, a custom spell implying a stone's sudden descent). To some spellcraft masters, it might seem trivial—Hodge was sure Professor Flitwick could do it effortlessly—but for a Hogwarts student, even grasping the concept was a question mark.
This marked a shift from merely "casting spells" to "taming magic." Granted, Hodge had only scratched the surface, barely tying it to Waffling's theories.
In that afternoon's Transfiguration class, Hodge decided to test his skills.
According to A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, novices should start small, transforming inanimate objects with minimal changes in size or complexity to avoid overreaching. Only after mastering that could they move to living things. Today, Professor McGonagall tasked the class with turning a snail into a button.
Hodge stared at the gray-shelled snail in his palm, locking eyes with it as if trying to unravel its secrets. Nearby, Terry Boot shot him an envious glance—he wouldn't dare be so bold. His own snail was a vivid orange-red, possibly poisonous.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front, her sharp gaze sweeping the room like a hawk. It lingered on Hodge several times. Normally, he'd have succeeded by now, but today, his brow remained furrowed. Finally—
"Miss Granger has succeeded. Five points to Gryffindor."
Hermione beamed at her gray button, sneaking a smug glance at Hodge. Seeing him still struggling, she mentally cheered herself on, even tracing a checkmark with her wand—nearly knocking Harry's snail off the desk in the process.
A few others succeeded soon after.
Just as McGonagall was about to intervene, Hodge transformed his snail into a crystal-etched button. McGonagall's green robes swirled as she approached. "Mr. Boot, focus. A real button doesn't curl up on itself."
Once she moved on, Terry muttered, "Easy for her to say. Buttons don't grow antennae either." Still, he was pleased with his progress. In the final moments of class, he eagerly watched Hodge's "button exhibition." "I've never seen so many button designs in my life!"
Shell buttons, horn buttons, coconut buttons, gemstone buttons—some patterned, some engraved. Terry even spotted a bizarre, grimacing face button. Hodge claimed it was modeled after him, but Terry vehemently denied it.
After class, Hermione cornered Hodge, incredulous. "How did you do it? Oh, and here—this mentions the Salo family." She handed him a piece of parchment. "How'd you make the snail transform so fast? It doesn't make sense!"
Hodge glanced at the parchment, surprised, and thanked her profusely.
He briefly explained Waffling's theory and the hidden manuscripts in the library. Hermione, skeptical but intrigued, vowed to read them all. Harry and Ron, standing nearby, looked uncomfortable—they clearly didn't understand the convoluted magical theory. Hodge suspected they'd never even cracked open Magical Theory.
"Got a simpler version?" Ron asked, giving up.
Hodge offered a concise explanation, though he doubted it would stick with Harry and Ron. Without understanding, the knowledge would slip from their minds like water. But Hodge had made up his mind to discuss the theory with Dumbledore. He said, "Try taming your magic."
At eight o'clock that evening, Hodge knocked on the door of the Headmaster's office.
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