~ 20 Advanced Chapters Available on my Patreon!
————
On the afternoon of the 27th, Hodge was discharged from the hospital.
He bid a reluctant farewell to his new friend, Evelina Selma, and on the drive home, Mrs. Blackthorn kept staring out the window, clearly distracted. Dinner that evening was noticeably saltier than usual.
While she was washing dishes in the kitchen, Mr. Blackthorn approached with a cup of tea in hand.
"Your mother… that past experience meant a lot to her, but I'm not sure if she's still holding onto any resentment. So, don't press her too much about it."
"I understand, Dad," Hodge promised.
Mr. Blackthorn leaned down and patted his son's shoulder. Just then, a faint tap-tap sounded from outside. He turned toward the noise, his eyes widening in surprise.
A grey owl perched on the windowsill, folding its wings while lightly pecking at the window frame with its beak. Hodge studied the owl, feeling an odd sensation: its brown eyes seemed locked onto him. He stood and strode toward the window.
"Hodge," his father called from behind.
Hodge's hand rested on the window latch. It's almost human, he thought. He pushed the window open, and the owl glided past him, landing precisely on the living room coffee table. It raised its right leg, revealing a small copper tube tied to it.
"It's an owl post!" his mother exclaimed, appearing suddenly at the kitchen doorway.
Hodge stepped forward and untied the tube, pulling out a letter. His gaze lingered on the wax seal's crest for a moment before he opened the letter and read it through, checking for any details Professor McGonagall might have missed.
He handed the letter to his father, as his mother was too overwhelmed to form a complete sentence. After a long pause, she said in a trembling voice, "There's probably something else… to remind you what to bring."
Hodge shook the envelope and examined its contents. "A shopping list," he said, "and, oh, a name. I think it's someone Professor McGonagall arranged—" He looked at his parents. "His name's Percy Weasley."
The next morning, the Blackthorn family drove to Charing Cross Road as planned. Half an hour later, their car pulled up at the intersection.
Hodge glanced across the street.
There weren't many people around, so he immediately spotted his target: a tall, lanky boy with red hair, standing outside a grimy pub, looking around.
"Ten o'clock, right on time," Mr. Blackthorn said, rolling down the window. "So, we're looking for the Leaky Cauldron? I don't see anyone…" His eyes passed over the redheaded boy several times.
"I see him. Let's go," Hodge said.
Mr. Blackthorn looked stunned, muttering under his breath as he gripped the steering wheel and glanced back at his wife. Her eyes were red; Hodge knew she'd snuck up to the attic last night, where the family's old belongings and miscellaneous junk were stored.
"You… you two go ahead," she stammered.
"Darling—"
"Mum."
"I understand. I need some time to think. Go on."
Hodge and his father exchanged a look.
"Alright, that's settled," Mr. Blackthorn decided. "Your mum and I will wait out here. You're grown now, son, and we can't help you much with this. Don't forget your backpack and money."
"And the list," Mrs. Blackthorn added.
Hodge squeezed his mother's hand reassuringly. "Having a stranger around might be awkward, but next year will be better. I'll be your guide." He stepped out of the car and crossed the street.
Up close, he noticed Percy's face was covered in freckles.
Percy's eyes followed Hodge, and when Hodge stopped in front of him, Percy broke into a grin and extended his hand.
"You must be Hodge Blackthorn? Here on Professor McGonagall's orders to pick you up."
"Glad to meet you," Hodge said, shaking his hand and staring at Percy's vibrant red hair.
"Percy Weasley." Percy pointed to the 'P' badge on his chest with his free hand. "Don't worry, see? I'm a Gryffindor prefect." He guided Hodge toward the pub, whispering as they walked, "I've got two older brothers, a younger brother, and a sister. I know all the procedures by heart."
Hodge waved across the street, knowing his mother would see, though his father might not. The thought made him chuckle.
As they entered the Leaky Cauldron, the light dimmed abruptly.
"Is this place under a Concealment Charm?" Hodge asked.
"What?" Percy replied. "Oh, yeah. Keeps Muggles from wandering in. I heard there was a time when anyone could come in, before the Statute of Secrecy. That wasn't exactly a good thing."
The pub's interior wasn't much better than its exterior—dark, old, and worn. Don't wizards know how to clean? Hodge wondered. But he'd just left St. Mungo's, which was spotless, so he chalked it up to the owner's quirks.
They carefully navigated past a group of old women drinking sherry and playing cards, then moved through the corridor and past the bar to a small, walled courtyard.
"That guy behind the bar—"
"You mean Old Tom?"
"He looked like he wanted to grab me and eat me."
"He's the owner. Been here since my dad's time. Decent bloke," Percy said matter-of-factly. "And he's got no teeth. Watch this: count three bricks up, then two across—" He drew his wand and tapped a brick three times. "Got it?"
"Three up, two across. Got it," Hodge repeated.
"Good," Percy said. "Professor McGonagall says you've got a knack for Transfiguration. I suggest Gryffindor. You know about Sorting, right? Headmaster Dumbledore's a Gryffindor alum. He's practically a genius…"
The brick Percy tapped began to tremble violently, then split open to reveal a wide archway leading to a winding, cobblestone street that stretched out of sight.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Percy said, puffing up with pride.
They stepped through the archway, and the wall closed behind them, sunlight warming their faces again.
The cobblestone path was lined with vibrant magical shops, each more eye-catching than the last—some with massive display windows, others with goods piled at their entrances. Amid the bustling crowd, vendors called out promotions. Hodge's senses were overwhelmed, and he followed Percy almost mechanically, bombarded by the sights and sounds.
"Hodge? Hodge!" Percy nudged him.
"Huh?" Hodge snapped back to reality, finding himself standing on a set of white stone steps before a gleaming bronze door. A figure in a scarlet-and-gold uniform, barely chest-high, blocked their path.
Hodge recalled Evelina's description of Gringotts staff: long-eared goblins.
"We need to exchange money first," Percy said. Noticing Hodge's daze, he asked nervously, "You didn't forget your money, did you?"
"Of course not."
"Good." Percy visibly relaxed. They passed through two sets of doors, with goblins bowing along the way. Inside the grand hall, at least a hundred long-bearded, long-eared, long-limbed goblins bustled about, each focused on their tasks.
They approached a counter with a copper scale.
Percy leaned down to Hodge. "I'd suggest exchanging for eighty Galleons. If you're fine with secondhand stuff, thirty should do. Oh, and the currency's Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons. Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and one Galleon—"
He glanced at a sign on the counter: Today's rate: 1 Galleon = 5.5 GBP.
"—is about five and a half pounds."
Hodge stood on tiptoe and handed a stack of notes to the goblin teller.
"Exchange all of this."
The goblin swiftly counted the notes, followed by a dizzying flurry of drawer-opening and coin-clinking. Within ten seconds, a cloth bag was pushed toward Hodge.
"Received five hundred pounds. Exchanged for 90 Galleons, 15 Sickles, and 13 Knuts. New customers receive a complimentary cloth bag. Come again."
The bag's opening shimmered with gold and silver. Hodge picked up a Galleon to inspect it, then hefted the bag, feeling its reassuring weight.
As they left the bank, Percy muttered, "You're pretty loaded."
Hodge grinned. "My family was worried I wouldn't have enough."
They went on to buy school uniforms, a full set of textbooks, and various supplies, nearly filling Hodge's backpack.
Percy was quieter than before, but when they passed an ice cream shop and Hodge insisted on treating, both emerged with cones in hand, and Percy's energy returned.
"My eldest brother, Bill, works for Gringotts as a Curse-Breaker," he said, munching on chocolate-covered nuts. "It's not steady, but he earns well. Charlie, my second brother, raises dragons in Romania—another risky job. They've used up all the adventure in the family. Me? I'm different. I'm aiming for the Ministry of Magic, like Dad, but I'm not settling for some dead-end department…"
"I heard Gringotts was broken into recently?" Hodge asked.
"Yeah, it happened. The papers said nothing was stolen, thank Merlin. Our family has a vault there, so we were relieved. I bet it was some reckless dark wizard. They're not exactly known for their brains—dark magic fries their minds. Mark my words, one day we'll hear about some drunk wizard bragging it was him."
"Here we are," Percy said, giving Hodge a nudge. "Bet you've been waiting for this all day. I'll wait outside."
Hodge stumbled into a small shop, barely catching the sign. He glanced at the window, where a wand rested on a faded purple cushion. His heart skipped. A wand!
He looked toward the counter. No one was there.
The shop felt serene, almost sacred, packed with thousands of narrow boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling. Hodge closed his eyes, as if reading an ancient tome buried in history's dust.
After a while, he opened his eyes, calm and steady.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice said.
Hodge turned. An old man had appeared behind the counter—where it had been empty moments before. His pale eyes gleamed in the dim shop.
"Hello," Hodge replied, composed.
"I hope I haven't disturbed you," the man said. "Remarkable intuition. A visitor beyond fate."
"Yes…" The man continued, "You're almost the spitting image of your grandfather in his youth—black hair, blue eyes, handsome features. He walked in just like this. I remember it clearly. I was an apprentice then, and my father ran the shop. Fifty years gone in a blink, but it's all as it was meant to be. Mr. Blackthorn, please raise your arm." He stepped closer to Hodge.
"Every Ollivander wand contains a powerful magical core, and no two are alike," Mr. Ollivander said, measuring Hodge with a tape. "The most common cores are unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring, but occasionally, we use something… unconventional. No wandmaker can resist the temptation. I keep only the best."
"Try this one." He handed Hodge an open box with a pale, bony finger.
"Thirteen inches, blackthorn, exceptionally sturdy. Historically chosen by seven out of ten Blackthorns. Paired with dragon heartstring, it's formidable, especially for dueling."
Hodge took the wand, wondering if he should cast a spell, but Ollivander snatched it back.
Hodge's attention had shifted. "Mr. Ollivander, you mentioned the 'Blackthorn family'?"
"Indeed," the old man said, weaving through shelves and returning with another box. "Willow, unicorn hair, nine inches. A fine healing combination, elegant, suited for advanced silent spells."
Hodge barely raised it before it was taken away.
Confusion swirled in his mind. He'd long suspected his mother's ties to the wizarding world, but his surname came from his father. His mother was Emily Wood before marriage, so he'd expected some mysterious 'Wood family.' Now wasn't the time to dwell, though. He tried wand after wand, and Ollivander's boxes piled up on a nearby bench.
"Mr. Ollivander? I feel something… over there. Could be my imagination…"
Ollivander followed Hodge's gaze to a corner of the shelf, his expression shifting from confusion to excitement. He slapped his forehead. "What did I say?!"
"This is it, the unconventional choice I mentioned. It can't be wrong—blackthorn, Thestral tail hair, ten and a quarter inches. Resilient, with extraordinary perception and immense power."
Hodge took the wand, and a strange sensation washed over him, as if he could feel it breathing.
He gave it a firm wave.
A red light shot from the tip, sparkling like fireworks, while the room's shadows seemed to come alive, coiling around Hodge like black thorns.
"Marvelous! Truly marvelous!" Ollivander exclaimed. "Oh, splendid, absolutely splendid."
The door burst open, and Percy Weasley rushed in, alarmed. "What happened, sir?" His jaw dropped. Moments later, Ollivander boxed the wand, his pale silver eyes fixed on Hodge.
"Blackthorn with Thestral tail hair—the only time I've ever tried that combination. I don't know what it signifies, but it was meant for you." He handed over the box.
Percy gasped. "Thestral?"
Hodge paid, satisfied, and left the shop, Ollivander's final words echoing in his mind: "The wizard chooses the wand, and the wand chooses the wizard." He glanced at the peeling gold sign:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
Turning back, he saw Percy watching him with concern.
"Is something wrong with my wand?" Hodge held it up. In the sunlight, it gleamed dark and felt like an extension of himself.
Percy sighed heavily. "It's the Thestral tail hair."
"What's that mean?"
"You don't get it. Thestrals are winged horses with a bad reputation in the wizarding world. They're seen as ominous, and, well, they're not exactly pretty. But—" he added reassuringly, "once you're at Hogwarts, check the library. See if any famous wizards used a similar core for reference."
Good advice, Hodge thought. Without Percy's nudge, he might never have realized such things could fill a book.
"…Like, I know of one wand with Thestral tail hair," Percy said, then stopped.
"Go on," Hodge urged.
"Never mind."
"Come on, tell me."
Percy looked embarrassed, muttering, "The Elder Wand." He quickly added, "From a fairy tale, the wand Death used. Silly, right? Stop laughing. I'm going to grab something."
Hodge nodded, amused. The Elder Wand—famous, indeed.
But like with Professor McGonagall, his knowledge of the wizarding world was patchy. He knew McGonagall was strict and serious, but what she looked like? Fuzzy. The Elder Wand was the same: 'Death,' 'unbeatable,' 'passed through death.' That was it. Its core? No clue.
He followed Percy into a secondhand shop.
It was crammed with battered wands, wobbly copper scales, and stained old cloaks, with stacks of books spilling toward the door. Unlike the bright, orderly Flourish and Blotts, this place was grimy and chaotic.
Suddenly, something caught Hodge's eye.
He nimbly stepped over a basket of odd-smelling bottles and pulled a book from a teetering stack. Percy, having paid for a hefty tome, leaned over and read the title: "The Raven of Foggy London and the Heart of Stone? What's this?"
Hodge stared at the cover, lost in thought.
He knew the story inside out—
A bookshop clerk named Irene, sorting donated books, finds a star chart parchment tucked inside a climate almanac. She traces it to a forgotten castle-based meteorology school that blended ancient alchemy and modern star-tracking to create a magical astrolabe, triggering widespread weather anomalies in 19th-century London.
As Irene digs deeper, strangers appear, and conspiracies unravel…
"How much for this?" Hodge asked the shopkeeper, wiping dust off the cover with a rag.
The shopkeeper flipped through it. "Did I even take this in? Oh… right, that lot from Mundungus. Muggle storybooks, haven't sold a single one. Seven Sickles, no less."
Hodge paid without haggling.
"Hey, I've got more! Cheap!" the shopkeeper called as they left. "Two for ten Sickles!"
On the street, Hodge checked his list. Only one task remained: buying an owl.
Along the way, Percy shared his "good student" secrets:
"First, follow the rules—that's key. You're just a first-year, so don't worry about helping teachers yet. Second, study hard, take every subject seriously, and pick as many electives as you can in third year. That way, you'll have more options during O.W.L. career counseling…"
"I took every course," he said, puffing out his chest to show off his prefect badge.
"If you excel consistently, you might get a prefect badge before fifth year. It's tough, so don't get your hopes up. Beyond that, there's Head Boy or Girl…"
Hodge didn't find it tedious; he listened eagerly.
Ten minutes later, they reached their final stop: Eeylops Owl Emporium. With the shopkeeper's advice, Hodge chose a screech owl, nearly a foot and a half long, that seemed particularly clever.
While teasing it with owl treats, the shopkeeper handed him an oversized cage.
"It's only six months old. Could grow to two and a half feet, big enough for oversized parcels."
Finally, Percy escorted Hodge back to the Leaky Cauldron's entrance, and Hodge thanked him repeatedly.
————
Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .com/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)