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Hodge Blackthorn returned to the warm, sunlit common room, leaving the slimy, squishy slugs and the tormented twins behind. He spotted Terry hunched over his History of Magic homework, due tomorrow. "Damn it, almost done," Terry muttered.
Moments later, Anthony Goldstein burst in.
"Just got back from the 'Charm Chasers' meeting," he said, brimming with enthusiasm. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to Hodge. "You joining us, Hodge? Next one's in two weeks."
Hodge brushed it off with an excuse about studying. But Anthony's excitement didn't waver. He launched into a story about how Davies escaped a tightly knotted rope without a wand. "A slick Vanishing Charm! Way more practical than Quirrell's tales, right? Well, if you're not keen, I'm off. Just heard about a Sirius Society—they're petitioning Professor Sinistra for a new orrery…"
"Anthony's in at least seven clubs," Terry said, incredulous. "All in two months. How does he do it?"
Hodge pointed out sharply, "You could too, Terry, if you'd just finish your homework right after class. Saves a lot of hassle."
"Don't be ridiculous. Who does homework first thing?" Terry shot back. "Anyway, tell me what the hell Uric the Oddball did… Oh, and I've got something to tell you. It's about a club."
Ravenclaw was a breeding ground for all sorts of clubs.
As Anthony put it, "If you graduate without joining at least ten proper societies, you've wasted your time in Ravenclaw."
Hodge had to admit, that wasn't an exaggeration. The clubs were as numerous as the notices plastered on the bulletin board, woven into the fabric of Ravenclaw life. Students reveled in them, treating each meeting like a themed party—fun, social, a chance to make new friends. As interests shifted, they'd drift away, joining new circles.
They were like waves on a shore, scattering and regrouping with the breeze, bringing fresh blood to the established societies.
Even Michael Corner had signed up for some oddly named Quidditch fan club. He still couldn't recall its name, but it was his only shot at borrowing a senior's broom for a quick fly.
Terry kept his word. That night, with Anthony and Michael fast asleep, he shook Hodge awake. The two tiptoed out of the dormitory.
"I heard about a secret meeting," Terry whispered. "Some older students were chatting, and I eavesdropped. It's in the common room, just after midnight."
They weren't the only ones sneaking around. As they descended the stairs, two figures emerged from the girls' dormitory. One held a candle, its faint glow revealing hooded cloaks and scarves, as if they were hiding their identities.
Yet their boldness—striding right past Hodge and Terry—contradicted the secrecy. One girl leaned in to whisper to her companion, giggling softly.
Hodge and Terry followed them to the common room. The lamps were out, the fireplace reduced to a few flickering embers. The room was silent, but when Hodge noticed a dozen candles scattered across the floor, he understood the girls' theatrics. Maybe they, like the others here, just enjoyed the thrill of mystery.
A dozen students sat in a loose circle on the carpet, chairs and bookshelves pushed to the corners. Hodge and Terry, guided by the dim candlelight, found two empty spots. They were noticeably shorter than the others, and Hodge caught snippets of words like "first-years" and "Blasting Curse." Thankfully, no one shooed them away.
This emboldened Hodge.
He glanced to his left and nearly gasped. The person across from him wore an eagle-beaked mask, but her slender frame and the long, curly hair spilling from beneath gave her away. "Clearwater?" he whispered.
"Shh," Penelope Clearwater hissed, tucking her hair under the mask. "Don't say my name." She glanced around before explaining, "Herbert didn't want to come—said it's no big deal—but I figured a prefect should keep an eye out. You know, in case there's contraband or something…"
"You planning to stay silent the whole time?"
Unless Penelope kept quiet, her voice would give her away. They were all from the same house, after all.
"Depends," she said, leaning closer. "If something interesting comes up… I can do this." She pointed her wand at her throat, and her voice turned gravelly. "Good luck," she rasped.
"Oh, don't talk to me," Hodge said, pushing her away.
Penelope's grin was wide and, in the mask, downright creepy. Judging by the startled looks around them, others felt it too. She fell silent.
Someone cleared their throat.
"To Rowena Ravenclaw, to Hogwarts," a voice declared, raising a wand. Others followed suit. Hodge and Terry exchanged a glance, then muttered, "Lumos." A dozen beams of light illuminated faces previously shrouded in shadow.
It was as if they'd all shared in some arcane ritual. The tension in the room eased.
People started talking. To Hodge's surprise, the topics weren't as secretive as he'd expected. One student fretted about only getting three O.W.L.s. "Retake them, obviously," Clearwater muttered under her breath.
Then someone complained about Quirrell's classes.
"If only Gilderoy Lockhart could teach us," a girl sighed wistfully. "He's too busy, though. I read in the papers he's working on his autobiography, putting his fight against dark magic on hold. But once it's published, his experiences will inspire so many people, won't they?"
Hodge stifled a laugh. Right now, Gilderoy Lockhart was just a celebrated Ravenclaw alumnus. He was about to leave when the student who'd spoken first stood again. Like a conjurer, he pulled a book from behind him.
He lit his wand and began reading a passage, his voice soft and rhythmic, like reciting prose poetry.
"Young Rowena Ravenclaw, dwelling by the serene, distant lake, nurtured the eternal bloom of wisdom alone. Her gaze pierced the mists of history. She left the valley, walking along the dam, her radiant light drawing countless innocent, wandering souls. And there, she met her lifelong friend, Helga Hufflepuff…"
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