Harry Potter: The Forbidden Magic Legend Begins with Him

"Are you absolutely sure you won't reconsider?"

An old witch with long, silvery curls asked in a kind tone.

"I've made up my mind, Hodge and I both have. As for you two—" Harry hesitated, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Ron cut in.

"You can't leave me out!" Hermione added, her voice brimming with indignation.

A wave of emotion flickered across Harry's face. He looked at each of them—Hodge, Ron, Hermione—and saw the same resolute certainty in their eyes. "We've all decided," he said firmly.

From his portrait, Headmaster Phineas Black let out an exaggerated yawn.

"Am I still half-asleep?" he muttered, scratching his nose. "Did I just hear four first-years babbling about their plans before getting expelled?"

His words stirred unease in Ron and Hermione. Harry swallowed hard and shot back, his voice rising, "So what? Don't you get it? If Snape—or someone else—" he glanced at Hodge, "—gets their hands on the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort will return! If he succeeds, Hogwarts won't exist anymore, so what does expulsion even matter? If I get caught before I can reach the Stone, then fine, I'll just go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to come find me. That's just dying a little later than now, because there's no way I'm ever joining the Dark side!"

His words rang out with fierce conviction. A red-nosed, portly wizard in another portrait waved his fist enthusiastically.

"Well said! Never compromise with the forces of darkness! Noble, truly noble!"

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, a bit embarrassed. "It's not entirely selfless, you know. Voldemort killed my parents. I can't let him win…" His voice trailed off, the raw honesty draining his energy. He turned to Hodge, uncertain. "What if we set the plan for tonight—assuming Dumbledore still hasn't returned by then?"

The question earned a silent nod of approval from a certain portrait who'd been quiet until now, mentally promoting Harry to the head of the Auror Office for his boldness.

Hodge, however, had stayed silent for a reason—he didn't want anyone thinking he was leading this adventure. But now, it was time to speak up.

"If all goes as expected, the dark wizard trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone will likely think the same," Hodge said, causing Harry to blink in surprise. "So, not tonight. We act during the window when most students are distracted, right after exams."

"You mean…?" Hermione prompted.

Hodge lowered his voice. "I heard Fred and George have been cooped up too long. They're planning a little party in the Great Hall during dinner. A lot of people are interested."

"They've made a small fortune in pocket money recently," Ron grumbled.

It was a bizarre scene, one rarely witnessed in a century. Under the watchful eyes of portraits—some tall, some short, some whispering, others dozing—four first-year witches and wizards openly plotted how to secure a magical treasure hidden within the school.

After their brazen scheming, Hermione had mentally prepared herself. She ticked off points on her fingers. "According to Hagrid, several professors are guarding the Stone: first, there's Hagrid's Fluffy, then Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, Professor Quirrell, and Professor Snape. And I'd bet Professor Dumbledore's involved somehow too."

"So, seven obstacles in total," Ron said, frowning. "I hadn't realized until you said it." His face lit up quickly, though. "Good thing Hagrid told us how to deal with a three-headed dog. All we need is—"

"Let's talk outside," Harry interrupted, noticing the portraits' keen interest.

What they did next felt thrilling, even as they left the Headmaster's office. Hodge grabbed a piece of parchment and an ornate quill from Dumbledore's long-legged desk, dipped the quill in ink, and handed it to Harry. Harry scribbled down the clues he'd gathered over time, with Hodge adding two more. Then, all four signed their names.

The signatures were Hodge's insistence. As he wrote his surname, he recalled the midnight gatherings in the Ravenclaw common room. A shared secret forged a bond.

They stared at the parchment, their four signatures staring back. A quiet, profound sense of responsibility swelled within them.

Hodge folded the parchment and, somewhat brusquely, stuffed it into the golden claws of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.

The bird lowered its magnificent head, glaring at him reproachfully.

As they prepared to leave, the goateed Headmaster Black called out, "Oi, Blackthorn lad! If you manage not to die or get expelled—though that's a tall order—swing by Grimmauld Place in London over the holidays."

"Grimmauld Place?" Hodge echoed.

"Exactly. There's a wizarding trove hidden there. You can't get in now, of course, but if you're curious… come find me," the goateed headmaster said, a touch of melancholy in his voice.

"Noted," Hodge replied, closing the office door behind them.

"You know that headmaster?" Harry asked as they descended the narrow spiral staircase, their chests buzzing with the thrill of the upcoming adventure.

"Distantly related," Hodge said vaguely.

"Hey," Ron nudged Hodge's shoulder, "don't you have any ideas?"

"Ideas about what?"

Ron couldn't believe someone could be so dense. "A wizarding trove! That goatee practically handed you the treasure map! I'm saying, maybe you'll need some help."

"Thanks, I'll think about it," Hodge said politely.

He knew the place—Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the Black family's ancestral home. Phineas Black had made it clear: Hodge couldn't get in. The one person who could was currently rotting in Azkaban. The headmaster's words were just bait to hook Hodge's curiosity.

The wall ahead split open, revealing a head that peeked out. Once the coast was clear, they slipped through one by one, the massive stone gargoyle leaping back into place behind them.

The four exchanged glances, an inexplicable sense of exhilaration washing over them, like survivors of a great ordeal.

They moved to an open courtyard, ensuring no one could overhear, and hashed out the details.

"So, we move at dinner, six o'clock," Harry said, checking his watch.

Hodge pulled out the Blackthorn family pocket watch, syncing it with Harry's. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared curiously at the antique watch, its design slightly ostentatious. Inside the lid, where a photo might sit, a swirling black mist formed vague shapes.

"Is that a dragon?" Ron asked, astonished.

"You're seeing things, Ron. It's clearly a person—looks a bit like… Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected.

Harry didn't speak, but he agreed with Hermione. The mist concealed a figure, though it seemed to be wearing an Indian scarf. Professor McGonagall in a giant scarf? Absurd.

Click. Hodge snapped the watch shut.

They divvied up tasks: Hermione would tail Snape, Hodge would keep an eye on Quirrell, and Harry and Ron would stand guard outside the fourth-floor corridor. "Don't get caught!" they reminded each other. They agreed to meet in the Great Hall.

Time flew by.

Hodge slipped a thumb-sized crystal vial into his pocket, took a deep breath, and left the dormitory a few minutes early. He was ready.

But as he descended the stairs, he ran into a breathless Evelina Selma.

"I've been looking for you!" she gasped. "There's something you have to know."

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