The Ravenclaw diadem had always been useful to Hodge.
Though it was a Horcrux, containing a fragment of Voldemort's soul, that soul remained dormant, unawakened. By employing Occlumency, Hodge could shield himself from the diadem's instinctive malevolent influence. As long as he didn't overuse it, there was no risk of being controlled.
Hodge's rapid mastery of ancient magic was largely due to the diadem's power. In less magical terms, it tapped into his subconscious, stirring memories and knowledge scattered deep within his mind.
And while these were all parts of Hodge's subconscious, they manifested with distinct personalities, each representing a different facet of himself. The ideas they offered were often startlingly fresh and innovative.
"The diadem is in my possession," Hodge said.
"The Room of Requirement?" Dumbledore responded, his voice calm but probing.
"You knew?" Hodge was slightly taken aback. Dumbledore's eyes closed briefly. "I told you, I was close to grasping the clue."
"I just didn't expect…" Hodge trailed off, stunned that Dumbledore even knew about the Room of Requirement. This wasn't just a "clue"—it was solid intelligence. "When did you figure it out?" Hodge asked, curiosity piqued. Dumbledore gave a specific time.
Hodge's expression turned odd. That timing wasn't long ago—almost exactly when he'd decided to take the diadem. He could almost picture it: Dumbledore, in the dead of night, sneaking into the Room of Requirement, rummaging through piles of junk for hours, only to emerge empty-handed, scratching his head.
"The diadem is useful to me," Hodge stated firmly.
"Ravenclaw's wisdom?" Dumbledore asked.
Hodge nodded, then shook his head.
"It's dangerous," Dumbledore said softly. "And it must be destroyed."
"I completely agree," Hodge replied quickly. "But I'd prefer it be last, after we find the other Horcruxes. After all, there's more than one. I believe the number is seven—"
"Seven?" Dumbledore's face grew grave.
Hodge clamped his mouth shut.
The portraits of former headmasters on the walls erupted into murmurs.
"Utterly wicked!"
"Unbelievable!"
"Seven, truly?"
Yes, seven. Dumbledore needed to know this number. Things had already diverged significantly from Hodge's memories. The Ministry of Magic, the Muggle world, Dumbledore, even Harry and his friends—all were markedly different from what Hodge recalled. Part of it was due to his own actions, like a butterfly flapping its wings with increasing force. But the ripple effects of magical accidents couldn't be ignored either.
"Seven Horcruxes, or a soul split into seven parts?" Dumbledore asked carefully.
"I'm not sure," Hodge admitted, shaking his head.
Even Voldemort's remnant soul probably didn't fully understand this. According to Voldemort's plan, he intended to create six Horcruxes, splitting his soul into seven pieces, as seven was the most magically potent number. He'd gathered relics from three of Hogwarts' four founders, along with the diary and Marvolo Gaunt's ring, making five Horcruxes. For a long time afterward, Voldemort hadn't acted—perhaps a bout of obsessive compulsion held him back—until he heard the prophecy about the "Chosen One," Harry. That's when he resolved to make Harry's death the creation of his final Horcrux.
What happened next was well-known: Voldemort failed—yet also half-succeeded. A piece of his soul, due to the rebounding Killing Curse, attached itself to baby Harry, turning him into a partial Horcrux. So, as of now, Voldemort had six Horcruxes, his soul split into seven parts. But in a little over a year, he would create what he thought was his sixth Horcrux—Nagini—but was actually his seventh.
Of course, whether this "future" would come to pass was uncertain.
For now, two Horcruxes had already been destroyed: the diary and the cup. The third, Ravenclaw's diadem, was in Hodge's hands.
"I can keep the diadem in the Headmaster's office," Hodge promised.
Then he launched into his recent questions, one by one. Dumbledore answered—or tried to. For instance, the spell at the entrance to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom? Dumbledore admitted he'd placed it there. It wasn't particularly advanced, but it wasn't something a typical student could easily break. It would cause a commotion if anyone tried, and most wouldn't be stubborn enough to force their way in. This ensured the Basilisk couldn't get out, and students couldn't get in. Hodge would bet there were even more subtle spells inside the bathroom—Dumbledore was lying in wait, like a hunter at a trap. Unfortunately for him, Hodge hadn't taken the usual path.
Dumbledore didn't reveal his source of information.
"There was no signature on the letter," he said. "I could investigate, but since she's not ready to come forward…"
Hodge lowered his head, rolling his eyes. He was certain Dumbledore knew who it was. Ginny? A Ravenclaw? Someone else? He had a theory about how the magical accident triggered his future memories: perhaps it was tied to Sebastian Sallow, or something connected to him. Hodge's mind already held Sallow's ancient magic—stripping magical properties, memories, even power itself. If you added the mysterious force of time into the mix…
The conversation naturally shifted to magic.
Hodge held nothing back, explaining the principles behind his magic: from the Boggart dragon to magical projections, to using the diadem to draw out his subconscious from the depths of his mind. He was deliberately working to transform this process into a specific spell, one that wouldn't rely on the diadem.
Dumbledore listened intently, falling into deep thought when Hodge finished.
"Emotions, memories, states of mind, the subconscious…" he mused. "Your study of the mind is growing ever deeper." From the relationship between magic and will, Hodge's approach was almost ingeniously precise, no doubt tied to his natural talent for Occlumency. From the start, Hodge had zeroed in on the core of the matter, allowing him to grow at an astonishing pace. In some ways, he had surpassed most, beginning to probe the very essence of magic. For this reason, Dumbledore didn't object outright but cautioned him with the weight of his experience.
"Do you know about Neville Longbottom's parents?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes," Hodge replied.
Hodge's grandparents had died in the war, and Neville's parents were victims too, driven to madness by four Death Eaters using the Cruciatus Curse.
"The Longbottoms endured the Cruciatus Curse," Dumbledore continued. "After the war, their consciousness was shattered into fragments. The healers at St. Mungo's could do nothing for them… and yet, you seem to be intentionally pursuing a similar path."
Hodge paused to consider. He was experimenting in that direction.
But the two were fundamentally different. As he mulled it over, a memory surfaced: his duel with Mad-Eye Moody. During that spar, he'd deliberately mimicked Moody's fighting style. In theory, this wasn't efficient—everyone's combat style was unique. Hodge had even advised Harry, Ron, and Hermione to find what suited them best.
Yet his instincts told him this was important for him, even if he hadn't yet figured out why.
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