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Hodge Blackthorn was utterly astonished.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt the true wonder of magic. Ever since Professor McGonagall transformed a porcelain teacup in the living room into a lively guinea pig—one so flawless that even with his nose pressed against it, he couldn't spot a single flaw—he'd embarked on one magical exploration after another.
But never before had Hodge seen something that could turn invisible.
He instinctively overlooked the Thestral's grotesque appearance, gazing at the creature like a true zoologist. His eyes roamed over it, carefully observing how its black fur clung tightly to its gaunt, bony frame. He traced the lines of each protruding bone, noting how they converged at the shoulder blades, where a pair of large, tough, black wings sprouted.
His reaction quickly drew the attention of the others in the carriage. Hearing Hodge's description, their eyes lit up with longing.
"Please, Hodge," Terry called out, voicing the unspoken wish of everyone in the carriage.
As the Thestral-tail wand passed from hand to hand, Hodge suddenly felt a deep unease, a discomfort that prickled through his entire body, as if some vital organ had been lent out too carelessly. His eyes locked onto his wand, unable to look away.
Finally, the wand was returned to him, and Hodge let out a long breath, as if his missing lung had been restored, allowing him to breathe freely again. In that moment, he understood why Professor McGonagall had refused when he'd asked to borrow her wand the first time they met.
"Using a wand that doesn't belong to you can have serious consequences," she had said.
That might not have been the only reason. So when Ernie made another persistent request to borrow it, Hodge declined firmly.
"A wand has its master," he said. "Its properties might only suit me."
As the carriage rattled along, their conversation shifted to the properties of wands. Hodge noticed that the students raised in wizarding families had all heard bits and pieces about the subject.
"Willow heals, yew's dark, red oak fears lies, aspen breaks illusions;
Maple roams, blackthorn fights, vine aims high, holly guards the pure,"
Ernie belted out in a terribly off-key voice, prompting everyone to burst into laughter.
But in truth, based on a book Hodge had read in the library, written by a wandmaker, every line Ernie sang reflected partial characteristics of wands made from those materials—or rather, the biases people held about them.
Willow was suited for healing magic, yew had a penchant for dark magic; red oak would lose its power if its owner lied, while aspen could dispel illusions. Maple wand owners were natural travelers and adventurers, blackthorn produced warriors, vine signaled lofty ambitions, and holly symbolized sanctity—especially when paired with phoenix feathers, as the book claimed, representing purity and courage.
There were also lines about the flaws of wand owners:
"Pear chatters, chestnut lazes, ash clings stubborn, hazel's dainty."
Or even, "Elder wands never prosper."
"It really depends on the person," Hodge said. "According to that book, my future career options are probably limited to Auror, duelist, Death Eater, or Azkaban prisoner."
He leaned down and plucked a shriveled seed from the Thestral's tail. With a touch of magic, the seed sprouted roots, grew tender green shoots, and soon bloomed into a pale blue flower.
"Cool," Terry said, impressed.
"A growth charm," Hodge explained with a hint of regret. "Learned it from Professor Sprout during extra lessons. Shame it doesn't last." He cast a strengthening charm on the flower, but it didn't seem to help much.
The carriage came to a wobbly stop, and everyone disembarked.
Before them was a narrow platform with a sign reading Hogsmeade Station. A deep crimson steam locomotive stood quietly waiting, with a few older students poking their heads out of the windows, whispering to each other.
"Let's go, hurry up," Michael said, dragging his luggage.
Hodge stepped off the carriage, carefully avoiding the Thestral's restless hooves kicking up dirt. He suddenly wondered what the scene looked like to those who couldn't see Thestrals. Just then, the creature turned its shriveled head toward him, its pupil-less eyes startling him. It looked so much like a taxidermy specimen... Hodge noticed it was staring at the blue flower in his hand.
"You like this? Uh, alright, it's yours." He gingerly placed the flower on its head, finding a spot among the bones. It didn't make the creature any less hideous—if anything, it looked even stranger. The Thestral let out a sneeze.
Hodge took it as a farewell, or perhaps a thank you, in Thestral language. He hurried to catch up with the group.
Before boarding the train, he glanced back. The carriage they'd arrived in was rolling away on its own, the blue flower still perched on the Thestral's head. To some, Hodge thought, the sight must be just as magical—a lone blue flower floating through the air. But as the carriage turned, another Thestral suddenly stretched out its bony neck and gobbled up the flower lodged in the bone's crevice.
Hodge realized, a bit too late, that maybe Thestrals weren't so much about beauty as they were curious about the flower's taste.
With a long, deafening whistle, the train released a plume of white steam, and the crimson locomotive began to chug forward.
Hodge stared at Hogsmeade Station until it vanished from sight, then continued into the train. In one compartment, Terry and Michael waved him over. Ernie was there too, sitting with two friends—Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley, both Hufflepuffs.
"I know you," Hannah Abbott said. "You're always sneaking into the kitchens to swipe dried fish."
Hodge was dumbfounded.
Ernie Macmillan laughed so hard tears streamed down his face, leaning heavily on Justin, who grimaced under the weight.
"But those dried fish taste pretty good," Hannah added earnestly.
"Wait, so you've eaten cat food?" Ernie snickered.
Hogwarts' menu included fish, like fried cod or haddock fillets, battered and deep-fried or simmered in soup, and pickled herring, which was smaller but preserved.
Hannah tossed her golden braids over her shoulder, ignoring Ernie.
Hodge explained, "Fried dried fish is common in Muggle recipes. People eat it too—it's crispy, tender, and you can swallow the tiny bones."
Ernie muttered under his breath, "I've never eaten that."
Of course not. In the conversation that followed, he admitted he came from a pure-blood family, traceable back nine generations of wizards.
"So you've been cut off from the world for centuries," Justin said, staring at Ernie like he was some ancient relic unearthed from a rock.
Ernie's face flushed, and he launched into a long-winded recounting of his family history.
The tedious family saga lulled everyone into a daze. Hodge and Justin exchanged a glance. "I almost went to Eton," Justin said.
"Smeltings," Hodge replied, picking up the cue. "I was there for two months, meant to join a quiz competition, but the headmistress had to replace me, or she'd have chased me all the way to Hogwarts."
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