June 1991, Surrey, a primary school not particularly renowned in this world.
Hodge Blackthorn, fresh off his eleventh birthday, sat on a bench in the break area, chin propped in his hand, watching the chaos of kids chasing and roughhousing on the playground. A faint trace of worry creased his delicate face.
A gaggle of girls passed by him.
"Look at his eyes—brighter than the sky!"
"Our class doesn't have anyone this handsome. It's unfair."
"Isn't there that pig, though? That Dursley kid—he loves bullying everyone."
"Shh, look!"
Hearing the familiar name, Hodge instinctively turned his head. The girls were staring at him, unblinking. Caught in the act, one of them boldly spoke up. "Hodge! Brenda's having a birthday party on Saturday. Wanna come? She's still missing a dance partner."
Hodge didn't miss a beat. "What a shame! Tell her I've got family stuff going on, but I'll have a card ready for her on Monday."
The girls flashed bright smiles and wandered off.
Hodge's gaze drifted back to the playground, where Dudley Dursley and his little gang were, as usual, chasing Harry Potter. He clicked his tongue. With summer break looming, scenes like this were becoming a rare sight.
That's right—this wasn't your average 1990s Britain. This was the wizarding world.
Heaven knows how much Hodge's mind imploded two years ago when he saved Harry from Dudley's clutches and heard the name "Harry Potter" for the first time. One act of heroism had cost him two full years of mental turmoil.
Before that moment, Hodge had his life all figured out.
He'd been reincarnated into this world as a baby, giving him plenty of time to come to terms with his new reality—family, neighbors, classmates, society. As he grew older, he began methodically gathering information, preparing for his future.
This was Britain in the early '90s: the financial sector was booming, international trade was thriving, and the internet was just starting to take off. Everything Hodge saw set his entrepreneurial heart ablaze.
Entrepreneurship—a word he both loved and loathed.
If there was one thing that defined him across two lifetimes, it was this restless, burning ambition, a fire that never seemed to die. In his past life, he'd faced countless failures and wild ups and downs, yet his resolve never wavered.
And in this life, he had the potential to reach the very top.
His father was an engineer, his mother a fantasy novelist. Their family was well-off enough to support his higher education without issue. His parents were loving, their relationship harmonious, and they were remarkably open-minded about his education. When he asked to learn programming at six, they didn't hesitate—they promptly hired a teacher, no questions asked.
On top of that, Hodge was well-liked. At nine, he'd represented his school in a national quiz competition and walked away with the gold. For a reincarnator, his path seemed impossibly smooth.
"I am this era's greatest dreamer." —Hodge Blackthorn (future quote).
Then he met Harry Potter.
Hodge spiraled into a long, torturous dilemma, wrestling with the meaning of life at an age when most kids were just picking their favorite sweets. It was the classic conundrum: Oxford or Cambridge? For Hodge, it was a choice between unimaginable wealth in the Muggle world or wielding immense power in the wizarding one. The struggle was real.
It's a tough call for anyone.
But the dilemma was unexpectedly put on hold by a new problem. At his birthday party last month, Hodge had eagerly torn into his gifts. When he unwrapped a garish, pointed elf hat, it hit him like a Bludger: he'd never shown a single sign of magical ability.
Could he actually be a Muggle?
The possibility sent him into a full-blown panic. Dear God, Merlin, all the deities above—weren't reincarnators supposed to have magical talent by default?
He'd tried countless times in secret, but nothing worked.
"Maybe I just haven't found the key," he told himself. But at school, watching Harry accidentally pull off bizarre, impossible feats chipped away at even his staunchest optimism. Logic pushed him to consider other paths. Staying in the Muggle world wouldn't be so bad—keep learning to code, join the drama club, rack up awards in school, then dive into entrepreneurship in university, riding the wave of the internet boom…
And, just in case, to shield himself from potential dangers in the wizarding world, Hodge needed to plant "his people" in strategic places.
Rising from the bench, he strolled toward Dudley's gang.
It was quite a crowd—Dudley Dursley, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, Gordon. Except for scrawny Piers, they were all built like tanks, with Dudley, the biggest of them all, naturally leading the pack.
Harry, by contrast, looked frail, half a head shorter than Hodge, his round glasses held together with layers of tape. Dressed in oversized hand-me-downs, he seemed even smaller. But Harry was quick, nimble, and clever—often able to handle trouble on his own, even outsmarting his tormentors. Today, though, he wasn't so lucky. Piers had his arms pinned from behind.
"Hey, let him go," Hodge said lazily.
Dudley, mid-swing with his meaty fist aimed at Harry's nose, paused. Harry squirmed in Piers' grip, dodging as best he could. At Hodge's words, Dudley's small eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Mind your own business," he growled.
Facing a group of boys taller and broader than him, Hodge didn't flinch. As a teachers' favorite, his words carried weight. He leaned in, voice cool. "Seriously, don't you ever get bored? Talking to you lot is like arguing with a chatbot—only I'm bringing the entertainment. Listen, I looked up some laws recently. Based on your usual behavior, I might just get one or two of you sent to juvie. I could use the social studies credit."
Threats depend on who's making them.
Dudley stared, mouth slightly agape, processing. No one had ever threatened him with that before. To him, juvie was for kids like Harry. After a beat, he spat on the ground. "You'll see."
As Dudley and his crew shuffled off, Harry straightened his baggy clothes.
"Thanks, Hodge," he mumbled.
"No problem." Hodge handed him a sweet. They walked along the flowerbeds, then Hodge stopped, gazing into the distance. Harry followed his eyes to the golden sunset, the buildings ahead bathed in a warm glow.
After a moment, Hodge asked casually, "Harry, ever thought about what you want to do with your life?"
"Me? Uh—"
Harry's vision of the future was a bleak haze.
Especially since going home tonight likely meant catching hell from Dudley, with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia firmly on his cousin's side. Still, he wasn't complaining—at least he'd dodged a beating. Deep down, he was grateful for Hodge's intervention.
He opened his mouth to brush off the question, but something about Hodge's calm, steady face stopped him. There was a quiet intensity there—a quality Harry couldn't name (ambition, though he didn't know the word for it yet). Maybe it was just the sweet in his mouth, but he felt he owed Hodge the truth. "I don't know," he admitted.
"You should think about it," Hodge said, his tone rising with enthusiasm.
It was as if his entrepreneurial spark had reignited.
Hodge turned to Harry with conviction. "I'm going to make something of myself, Harry. I'm betting on you—you could come work with me."
Harry blinked, stunned.
"Me?" He pointed at his nose—unbruised, thanks to Hodge—and wondered if his friend had lost it.
"Yep, you. Haven't you noticed? You've got a lot going for you. You're brave, you don't bow to bullies, and you're not a bad person…"
Harry's cheeks flushed. He wasn't used to praise, but he couldn't help grinning when Hodge called Dudley's gang "bullies."
Under the sunset, Hodge bid Harry a casual goodbye, feeling he'd sealed the deal.
Harry Potter was brave, loyal, and selfless. Even if he was only half as noble as the books made him out to be, he'd go to great lengths—risking everything—to help someone who'd supported him in tough times.
Befriending Harry was a high-return investment. In two months, Harry would be off to Hogwarts. No one seriously thought Hodge would try to drag him away from the wizarding world—Dumbledore would have a fit.
The only thing to watch out for? Steering clear of Harry when the Dark Lord's shadow loomed.
A month and a half later, Hodge overheard his parents mention that his records had been transferred to a new school. He was about to become a secondary school student.
In that time, not a single owl had landed at his window. Not even a stray feather.
His last shred of hope fizzled out.
In the end, he enrolled at Smeltings Academy, the school Harry's uncle bragged about endlessly. Hodge got the full kit: a maroon tailcoat, garish orange knickerbockers, a flat straw hat, and a knobby walking stick.
Mrs. Blackthorn gushed that he looked dashing and kept pestering him about whether girls had sent him love letters.
Hodge wasn't about to admit he had a stack of them stashed in his drawer.
He threw himself back into programming, his sharp mind earning him constant praise from teachers.
There was also a minor run-in with Dudley.
Yes, he and Dudley Dursley were schoolmates again, though not in the same class. Dudley's glory days were fading—his posse now reduced to just scrawny Piers. One day, Dudley somehow got hold of a few cigarettes and was puffing away with Piers in the corridor. When Hodge passed by, Dudley flicked a cigarette butt at his feet, followed by the usual taunts and jeers. Before Dudley could throw a punch, Hodge raised his walking stick.
Thwack!
Dudley ended up with a massive lump on his head and fled to the boys' bathroom with Piers, not emerging until the bell rang.
All in all, Hodge's days were pretty good. But something was missing.
What was it? Maybe a spark of excitement. Maybe… magic.
At Smeltings, Hodge picked up a new habit. During breaks, he'd lie on the grass, a blade between his teeth, imagining Harry at Hogwarts. What was he up to? Had he gotten his hands on a shiny new Nimbus 2000? Had he seen the three-headed dog yet? Oh, Snape was probably driving him up the wall…
But just as Hodge made peace with his fate, destiny played a massive prank on him.