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In the soft glow of morning, Hodge Blackthorn stirred awake beneath his cozy, floral-patterned quilt. Yawning, he shuffled to the window in his pajamas, gazing out at the snow-draped scenery. A neighbor's green Christmas tree sagged under the weight of fresh snow, and as the wind swept by, a faint chime of golden bells tinkled in the distance.
He threw on his clothes and headed downstairs for breakfast.
By the time Hodge reached the living room, his parents were already up. Mr. Blackthorn lounged on the sofa, engrossed in a newspaper. Hodge glanced at the headline and couldn't resist praising the bright future of the internet.
Mr. Blackthorn peeked over the edge of the paper, his face a mix of surprise and skepticism. "Since when do you know about this stuff?" he asked.
"It's right there in the article," Hodge replied cheerfully, pointing at a bold Pipex banner ad sprawled across the page.
The ad was for an internet service provider, offering dial-up connections for businesses, governments, and tech enthusiasts.
While his father dove back into the fine print, Hodge wandered into the kitchen, where a mouthwatering aroma greeted him. Mrs. Blackthorn was putting the finishing touches on breakfast. The oven was baking golden, flaky beef pies, and she was slicing sausages at the counter. Soon, the table was laden with food.
Mrs. Blackthorn untied her apron and slid a Christmas cracker across the table toward Hodge. "Pick one and try your luck. We've got plenty."
Hodge eagerly tugged the fuse. With a loud pop, a shower of colorful confetti burst out, along with a delicate tin soldier toy and a slip of paper with a corny joke. He unfolded it and read aloud, dragging out the words for effect: "Why didn't the gingerbread man want to go to school? Because he was afraid the teacher would—bake—him with questions." He smirked, already regretting his hopes for the joke, but Mrs. Blackthorn burst into delighted laughter.
"Hey, check this out!" Hodge said, placing the tin soldier on the table. With a flick of his wand, the toy sprang to life, crawling across the table as if it were a battlefield. It mimed firing a gun, then gestured for imaginary comrades to follow. It clambered over a tissue box and dodged a spice jar like they were wartime obstacles. His parents watched, marveling and chuckling at the little gray soldier's antics.
It wasn't until a few moments later that Hodge remembered the Trace.
He froze, heart pounding, waiting for the inevitable. But nothing happened—no warning letter, no Ministry of Magic official bursting through the door. In the meantime, he helped carry a small Christmas tree into the living room, watched his mother adorn its branches with twinkling colored lights, and munched on a couple of pastries.
Pulling out his antique pocket watch, Hodge noted that some time had passed since he'd enchanted the soldier. With no official notice arriving, he decided to relax and think things through. Did the Ministry take Christmas off? Or maybe it was just a short holiday break? He racked his brain, recalling Professor Flitwick's words. The professor had mentioned that magic was forbidden outside school during breaks, but it was only a verbal warning, not a formal document. So how exactly did the Trace work?
Was it some kind of magical contract? He hadn't signed anything. Could Ministry workers have secretly cast a spell on him? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps the Trace was embedded in his wand? But surely not every wand for sale was tampered with in advance.
If the Ministry did send a notice, it'd probably just be a warning for a first offense. He could claim he forgot—which, to be fair, wasn't entirely a lie. Professor Flitwick had once shown him in his office how to layer multiple techniques into a single spell, inspiring Hodge to experiment with making his own magic more fluid. This morning, he'd cast the spell on the tin soldier without a second thought—it had felt so natural.
Since the deed was done, he figured he might as well use the opportunity to figure out how the Ministry monitored underage wizards. The more he thought about it, the more his mind buzzed with ideas. From what he knew, the law had plenty of loopholes. For one, the Trace couldn't distinguish whether a spell was cast by an underage wizard or someone else nearby, which often led to mistakes. Plus, kids from wizarding families could cast spells at home without issue, no warnings sent.
Hodge rubbed his chin, sensing a pattern. It almost felt like the system was rigged against Muggle-born witches and wizards. That made some sense—those living in Muggle neighborhoods could risk exposing magic if they weren't careful.
But where did he fit in? He didn't come from a fully wizarding family, but he wasn't exactly a standard Muggle-born either. Glancing at Mrs. Blackthorn, still bustling about, he wondered if the Ministry had classified him based on his mother's lineage.
Then another thought struck him: he hadn't started at Hogwarts on time. He'd arrived two whole months late. Could that mean he'd slipped through some hidden detection mechanism?
Lost in thought, he absentmindedly waved his wand, and a golden greeting card on the table folded itself into a paper crane.
Knowledge came at a price, Hodge reasoned. If he could unravel the Ministry's methods, a single warning letter would be a small cost to pay. Emboldened, he felt ready to take a few risks. Part of him even hoped someone from the Ministry would show up right then to explain it all.
By noon, the Blackthorns had finished decorating the house with mistletoe and holly branches. Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorn exchanged a warm smile. The family sat down to write Christmas cards, to be opened on Christmas morning.
After lunch, Hodge sprawled lazily on the sofa. The paper crane floated aimlessly in front of him, its movements less like a crane and more like a glittering owl. Nyx, his actual owl, was curled up in a black pine planter, her head tucked into her russet feathers.
Mrs. Blackthorn approached, dressed neatly and holding out a coat to him. "Time to go out," she said.
"Out where?" Hodge asked, puzzled.
"To visit dear Jamie," his mother replied. Hodge bolted upright on the sofa. "I knew you'd be excited," she added with a gentle smile.
Excited didn't begin to cover it.
Jamie. Marvelous Jamie. The Jamie who awakened her magic at fifty years old. Hodge's heart leapt. He threw on his clothes at record speed, though his mother still took her time inspecting his outfit in the mirror.
"Perfect. Let's go," Hodge urged.
Mr. Blackthorn, tinkering with his photo enlarger and developing tray, looked up. "Did I miss something? Darling, you don't mean another Jamie, do you? Some young girl?"
Hodge and his mother shot him matching glares.
Mr. Blackthorn ducked back to his pile of gadgets.
Jamie, of course, was no young girl. Awakening magic didn't come with a fountain of youth. She was, in fact, a stylish older woman, dressed in a fitted green outfit that cinched at the waist, with streaks of white hair peeking from her temples and a vibrant string of multicolored pearls around her neck. She radiated a wild, carefree energy, her face beaming with life.
Jamie welcomed them warmly.
Her pastries were so sweet they nearly made Hodge's teeth ache. He gulped down a swig of tea to wash away the sugar, listening as she recounted how she'd awakened her magic. Judging by his mother's expression, Jamie had told this story many times, each retelling more embellished than the last.
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