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[HP:Forbidden Magic Legend]-Chapter 130: Deduction
🕑 Added 2025-09-25 15:15:52 +0000 UTCOn the other side, Hodge spent a good deal of effort convincing Harry, Ron, and Hermione—mostly Ron—to keep what happened today a secret, especially the part about the diary.
Though they didn’t fully understand, the trio agreed, as Hodge only asked them to keep quiet for a week or until the school made an official announcement.
Back in the dormitory, Hodge mulled over how to handle Dumbledore.
As he thought, he sank into deep contemplation: Why was Fudge being so stubborn? Their conversation hadn’t revealed any useful information, so Hodge tried to piece together Fudge’s perspective. From his background, Fudge had lived through the war but hadn’t fought in it directly. After the war, he’d risen to Minister of Magic by sheer luck. Early in his career, he constantly sought Dumbledore’s help and advice. Over time, Fudge grew more confident, but he also became wary, suspecting Dumbledore was always scheming to take his position. Still, Fudge wasn’t a fool. Without a compelling reason, he wouldn’t risk a falling-out with Dumbledore.
So what could it be? Hodge carefully recalled Fudge’s demeanor.
Fudge believed Voldemort was still alive—a significant shift from before. But he couldn’t have seen Voldemort’s wraith himself; surely, Voldemort had no interest in parading his pitiful state before the Minister of Magic. So… Umbridge, Wickham, or perhaps someone else—someone from the future—must have “passed” information to him. Maybe even Fudge himself. Following this line of thought… suppose Fudge had somehow learned a piece of the future. What information would make him both trust and fear Dumbledore? When it came to fighting Voldemort, Fudge had every reason to rely on Dumbledore. Unless—
Hodge’s breath caught.
Unless Dumbledore died.
Fudge knew Dumbledore would die—perish halfway through the fight against Voldemort—but that they’d ultimately win. That explained Fudge’s behavior perfectly: he was terrified of that future and couldn’t help but act, like trying to stop Voldemort early. Yet he also feared changing the future. If Dumbledore didn’t die, would their victory still come? This contradiction explained why Fudge refused to share what he knew—he didn’t trust Dumbledore to face his “fate” willingly and go to his death.
The next day, a heavy snowfall blanketed the castle and grounds, frosting the windows with thick layers of ice. Alongside the snow came tighter security measures. After Charms class, Professor Flitwick escorted the students to their next classroom. As they descended the stairs, they saw Snape leading a group of students, his black robes billowing as he swept through the doorway.
“What’s going on, Professor Flitwick?” Hodge sidled up and asked in a low voice.
Flitwick hesitated.
“Well,” he said, “last night, an intruder got into the castle.”
“Sirius Black?”
“We’re not sure. He was disguised as a student, but thankfully, an Auror on patrol spotted him. Her name’s Tonks—I taught her.” Flitwick gave a small smile, then his face darkened. “Still, the intruder escaped. Not a single portrait saw how he did it.”
That made perfect sense.
Hodge’s fingers brushed the Marauder’s Map in his pocket. So, Sirius must have slipped into the castle through a secret passage, avoiding the Forbidden Forest. Wait…
“Disguised as a student?” Hodge asked.
Flitwick shook his head, clearly reluctant to reveal the student’s name—being caught up in this mess was bad luck, after all. Or perhaps he didn’t want to explain how someone could impersonate another, whether through human Transfiguration or Polyjuice Potion. But Hodge’s mind was elsewhere.
If Sirius could disguise himself as a student, he must have had brief contact with someone at the school. In other words, he’d appeared at least once without drawing attention.
He’d used his Animagus form.
Hodge pictured a large black dog.
A dog couldn’t just wander the castle, so the most logical conclusion was that Sirius transformed into a dog to bypass the Forbidden Forest’s monitoring and approach a student. Hodge ran through the possibilities—lovers strolling, students jogging by the lake at dawn, impulsive mountain-climbing enthusiasts… Too many options. But one thing was certain: whoever that student was, they definitely didn’t mind dogs.
That afternoon, Hodge knocked on the door to the Headmaster’s office.
Someone was already inside. He was both surprised and unsurprised to see Harry there, but Harry wasn’t part of the conversation. Instead, he was staring down at a house-elf with large ears and bulging eyes, cowering at the feet of a well-dressed middle-aged wizard. Dumbledore smiled at Hodge.
“Good to see you, Hodge. But as you can see, I’m in the middle of a discussion with Mr. Malfoy. You may need to wait a moment.”
Mr. Malfoy… Lucius Malfoy?
Hodge glanced instinctively at the man, who was slightly turned away. Pale blonde hair, a sharp, pallid face—when he turned, his cold gray eyes met Hodge’s. “No need,” Lucius snapped, kicking the house-elf aside. “We’re done, Dobby.” Without another word, he strode toward the door.
Harry stood rooted to the spot, watching the pitiful Dobby trail after his master. A sharp cry of pain echoed from the corridor.
“He needs a piece of clothing,” Hodge murmured, stepping beside Harry.
“Clothing?” Harry echoed, looking puzzled. Then, his eyes lit up, and he whirled to face Dumbledore. “Professor Dumbledore, please, can I give this diary back to Mr. Malfoy?”
“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
Harry grabbed the tattered diary and bolted out of the office. Hodge and Dumbledore listened as his hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs and through the corridor, their gazes seeming to drift far away.
“Humans are fascinating,” Dumbledore said after a pause, a smile tugging at his lips. “From their hearts spring the darkest evils, yet also the greatest songs of love and courage.” He turned to Hodge. “Now, Hodge, shall we talk?”
On the circular walls, the portraits of past headmasters turned away, some lowering their heads to nap. But Hodge noticed Phineas Black, with his goatee, winking insistently at him. The last time Hodge was here, Phineas had tried to tempt him with talk of the Black family home at Grimmauld Place and promises of magical power.
Hodge pretended not to notice, ignoring the way Phineas’s silver-and-green robes flapped dramatically. He followed Dumbledore to a chair and sat down.
“Where should we begin?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“You may hold back if you wish, choose what to share. But I hope our conversation dives deep, not merely skims the surface. As for me…” Dumbledore paused. “I’ll share everything without reservation.”
