Hoffa looked up and saw a small figure flickering unsteadily in the air, appearing in a different spot with each blink, darting around like a headless fly. It was a young dodo bird—alive.
This was a creature incapable of flight but capable of teleportation.
The bird scurried into a bush, trembling in fear. Noticing Hoffa's gaze, it let out a pitiful whimper.
Both Joey and Hoffa stood up, but the bird grew even more frightened. It blinked several times in quick succession and crashed headfirst into a tree, tumbling to the ground.
"There's one still alive," Joey said immediately, moving to catch it. But as he approached, the dodo struggled and gave a faint pop, teleporting onto a tree branch where it trembled, refusing to come down. It was clearly terrified.
"You're younger," Joey said to Hoffa hurriedly. "It'll be less wary of you. Help me get it down. This is the last dodo of this flock—perhaps even the last one on Earth. We can't afford to let it escape."
The pressure on Hoffa instantly intensified. Earth's last dodo? He clapped his hands gently, hoping to attract the fledgling's attention.
The bird remained perched and didn't trust him.
Thinking quickly, Hoffa pulled out the two chicken legs he had swiped from the Great Hall earlier that evening.
The fledgling caught the scent of food and slowly turned its head. It was starving but still too afraid to come down.
Hoffa, reading its hesitation, placed the chicken legs on the ground and raised his hands, backing away slowly.
Still, the bird stayed put.
Gritting his teeth, Hoffa laid down his wand as well. The dodo shifted its gaze to Joey.
Joey immediately removed all his weapons, disarming himself completely.
Pop!
The fledgling vanished from the tree canopy and reappeared in front of the chicken legs, devouring them ravenously. It had clearly gone a long time without being fed by an adult bird.
When it finished eating, Hoffa took out another chicken leg and approached cautiously. This time, the dodo didn't flee and began eating from his hand.
Gaining its trust, Hoffa breathed a sigh of relief. Once it finished, he gently cradled the small dodo in his arms. Its body was warm and trembling, like a fragile, fluffy ball.
"Shh, it's okay now," Hoffa murmured.
Sensing his calming presence, the bird's emotions gradually settled.
It was then that Hoffa noticed a wound on the bird's leg, oozing strange blue blood.
"Joey, this bird is injured," Hoffa said.
Joey frowned, pulling out a roll of bandages from his belt. While dressing the wound, he muttered grimly, "Who did this? Why kill the dodos?"
"Could it have been a predator?" Hoffa whispered.
"No," Joey said firmly. "If it were predators, why kill but not eat? Nature rarely wipes out entire species. Besides, these birds have no real defenses but are excellent at escaping. Whoever killed these dodos must have powerful magic."
Was it human? Hoffa glanced at the piles of bird corpses littering the ground, puzzled. Who would slaughter them so completely? Was it a psychopathic act or driven by some unknown purpose?
After briefly dressing the wound, Joey said to Hoffa, "Let's get this bird back and heal it. We can't let anything happen to it. There's still one more bird and a few eggs left. The species isn't extinct yet—"
Before he could finish, a sharp sound sliced through the air.
Whoosh!
An arrow shot out from the darkness, hurtling straight toward Hoffa.
Hoffa sensed the danger but didn't have time to react. At that critical moment, the Thunderbird pushed him toward the tree trunk with its wing.
The arrow grazed Hoffa's ear, narrowly missing him, and struck the Thunderbird's wing. While it didn't penetrate the bird's feathers, it caused it to cry out in pain.
A faint crackle of electricity flashed in the air.
The close call left Hoffa drenched in cold sweat. He quickly crouched, drew his wand, and prepared to activate Phantom Walk at any moment.
Joey also reacted swiftly, nocking an arrow to his bow and aiming firmly into the darkness of the forest. "Who's there?"
The archer revealed themselves.
With the sound of hooves against the forest floor, a centaur—a tall, gray-bearded figure with well-developed muscles—emerged slowly from the shadows.
Behind him, a group of centaurs appeared at the forest's edge, surrounding them. Each centaur had their bows drawn, their expressions filled with vigilance.
Joey lowered his bow slowly and placed a calming hand on Hoffa's wrist, signaling him to stay calm.
The gray-bearded centaur looked surprised. "It's you, Joey?"
Joey's voice turned icy. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, Nanru? Why did you attack a student?"
The old centaur's gaze lingered on Hoffa for a moment.
"Mistaken identity," the centaur replied in an ethereal tone. "You're not the only ones in the forest tonight. Several others have come, each carrying different missions but all drawn by the same darkness."
As he spoke, the surrounding centaurs gradually lowered their bows.
Joey pressed on immediately. "We're not the only ones? Did you see the intruders? Who killed the dodos?"
"Eyes deceived by appearances, an unseen future, countless crossroads. We've already reached the end of fate," the gray-bearded centaur said, his voice tinged with melancholy.
"Damn it, what are you even talking about?" Joey snapped, his frustration mounting.
The centaur shook his head. "Judgment Day approaches. I've seen shadows under the night sky and lightning flashing above."
Hoffa frowned. Why was this centaur speaking in riddles? Joey was asking direct questions, yet the centaur's answers were vague and irrelevant.
Joey clearly shared Hoffa's irritation. With a grim expression, he exhaled deeply, grabbed Hoffa's shoulder, and muttered angrily, "If this is all nonsense, we're leaving. I've got more important things to do."
He turned to leave, pulling Hoffa along.
"Wait."
Nanru called out to Joey, but his gaze remained fixed on Hoffa.
"You carry a shadow in your future. Beware the dark soul, young one," the centaur said.
Hoffa's eyes widened, but Joey was visibly losing patience.
"I wish you lot would learn to talk to people normally," Joey grumbled.
With that, he dragged Hoffa away, moving quickly to leave the centaurs behind and retracing their path through the forest.
The centaurs didn't follow. They simply turned to watch the pair depart, their expressions inscrutable.
As they walked through the Forbidden Forest, Hoffa remained silent, his thoughts occupied by the prophecy. A prophecy. He had encountered a prophecy.
Of all magical abilities, prophecy was the one Hoffa despised most. Prophets were, in his opinion, the dullest and most troublesome individuals.
Countless great figures and ambitious leaders had been ruined by prophecies. Voldemort and Harry, for example. Xiong Ba and Feng Yun. Zeus and Kratos.
All of them acted on some prophecy, took extreme measures, and ultimately orchestrated their own downfalls. Not only did they destroy themselves, but they also dragged others down with them—leaving only the prophets basking in their reputation for foresight.
He still remembered watching the World Cup in his previous life. On online forums, there were always people making "prophecies," claiming that a particular team would win. Of course, they didn't just make one prediction—they would predict the outcome for all 32 teams. Once the World Cup ended, they would use a secondary account to bump the post where their prediction turned out correct.
"See? I'm amazing, right? I'm a prophecy master!"
And then, people in the comments would start worshiping them: "Prophecy Master! Prophecy Master!"
It was utterly boring.
If he were still in that normal world and someone suddenly said to him, "Hey, kid, there's a shadow around you. Beware of the dark soul," Hoffa would probably slap them and retort, "Dark soul, my foot. Have you been hit by a wave of teenage angst?"
But this wasn't a normal world. The wizarding world was strange and unpredictable. Whether prophecies were true or false was anyone's guess. After all, most of the prophecies about Harry Potter had come true.
The centaur's words felt like a bone stuck in Hoffa's throat, leaving him deeply uncomfortable.
When they returned to the spot where they had first entered the Forbidden Forest, Hoffa couldn't help but ask Joey, "What did those centaurs mean by what they said?"
"Forget about the centaurs, and don't believe a word they say," Joey replied dismissively. "Those guys are a bunch of fools living in the future. Their favorite pastime is scaring themselves."
Joey took the dodo from Hoffa's arms and said, "Come on, give me a hand. We'll head back a bit later tonight."
Joey's words eased Hoffa's mind a little. This old man reminded him of Minerva McGonagall.
Standing by an oak tree, Joey whistled, and a soft ladder descended from the branches. He climbed up deftly.
When Hoffa looked up, he saw a large network of treehouses above them. It had been too dark earlier for him to notice.
Following Joey, Hoffa climbed up to the treehouses. The oak tree was thick and its branches dense, making the climb relatively easy. Soon, Hoffa found himself standing on a wooden platform nestled among the tree crowns, the planks creaking softly beneath his feet.
He couldn't help but admire the old man. Living in seclusion in a treehouse deep in the Forbidden Forest took a special kind of resilience.
As Joey pushed open the door, the air was filled with the sound of chirping. Feathers and bits of thread were scattered everywhere.
A group of chick-like creatures, startled by Hoffa's arrival, huddled nervously in a corner. They had disproportionately large eyes, smooth grayish skin, slender legs, and flat feet.
A cluster of Bowtruckles perched near a potted plant, curiously observing him. When Hoffa passed by, the Bowtruckles, feeling their territory was being invaded, started pelting him with small dirt clumps. Hoffa had no idea how to deal with them; he hadn't taken any courses on magical creatures yet. Thankfully, Joey came over and whistled, calming the Bowtruckles.
Once inside the treehouse, the chick-like creatures quickly scurried out in a line, disappearing into the corners. They were incredibly timid.
"Are you familiar with magical creatures?" Hoffa asked.
"Familiar? Of course. This is my bread and butter," Joey said, crossing his arms. "There isn't a single creature in this world that I don't know."
After saying this nonchalantly, he placed the young bird on the table, fetched some herbs and a bowl, and began grinding them.
"Help me undo its bandage. I'll apply some medicine," Joey instructed.
Hoffa complied. By now, the young bird had calmed down and was curiously watching the Bowtruckles above.
As he unwrapped the bandage, Hoffa asked, "Do you know of a type of monkey, silver all over, with big eyes that can always pinpoint an enemy's position?"
"Phantom Monkeys," Joey nodded. "Of course I know them. They're an exceptionally rare and unique species with some ability to foresee the future. Their fur can even be used to make Invisibility Cloaks. How do you know about them? Have you seen one?"
Hoffa quickly shook his head. "No, I just read about them in a book. I was curious."
He didn't want anyone to know about his encounter with the Dark Wizard.
Joey didn't press further. He handed Hoffa the ground medicine.
"Clean the wound and apply it evenly," he instructed.
Hoffa followed the directions, washing the wound on the dodo's leg with water.
Blue blood stained his hands.
Joey handed him a towel and sighed. "Dodos have blue blood. They possess a certain spatial magic, allowing them to teleport. The school keeps them here for a reason. Now that something's happened to them, I might be held responsible."
"What?" Hoffa was taken aback. "The school keeps them?"
"Of course."
"For what purpose?"
"To harvest their blood regularly," Joey said gloomily.
"Why harvest their blood?"
"Dodo blood is a key ingredient in many transportation spells, even Floo Powder. Without it, many teleportation spells can't be performed."
Hoffa turned his head mechanically. "What did you just say? Their blood can do what?"
"It's used in transportation arrays," Joey explained. "Dodos are magical creatures capable of effortless teleportation—something even most wizards can't do. Their blood contains unique spatial magic."
"That's also why these birds have been heavily hunted and bred in captivity. Their numbers are dwindling," Joey added.
Hoffa's expression froze. He immediately thought of the school's destroyed teleportation array. There was no doubt that the one who killed the dodos and the one who sabotaged the school's array were the same person.
The destruction of the teleportation array had brought Indor to the school to find him. And now, with Indor barely settled, the saboteur had cut off the source entirely. Truly ruthless.
(End of Chapter)
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