After being discharged from the hospital, Hoffa experienced one of the most peaceful periods of his time at Hogwarts.
No one came to bother him anymore. It felt like the Soviet Union had suddenly dissolved, the Middle East had reached a ceasefire, and every internet troll across the universe had vanished.
The world was finally quiet.
Aglaea no longer confronted him or spoke to him. Instead, she avoided him entirely, pretending not to see him whenever they crossed paths. Sometimes, she could be seen chatting and laughing with other girls at a staircase corner, but the moment Hoffa walked by, she would fall silent, only resuming after he was far enough away.
Hoffa also made an effort to steer clear of her, as if there were an invisible boundary separating them. As long as she maintained this distance, he didn't mind letting her keep her "queen bee" status.
December crept in, and the weather in Britain grew colder.
The sky often took on a dazzling pearly white hue, and one morning, a layer of shimmering frost covered the muddy grounds. The surrounding mountains turned gray under a blanket of ice and snow, while the lake looked as cold and unyielding as tempered steel. Each morning, the view outside the Ravenclaw Tower grew whiter and more wintry.
Classmates began donning thick scarves and gloves without even realizing it. After class, they rubbed their hands together in the corridors, exhaling visible puffs of white mist.
Some upper-year students had ordered enchanted blue flames from Diagon Alley—these flames could be held in the palm, warming hands while allowing for adjustable temperatures.
Hoffa, however, had none of these. He had no enchanted flames, no scarf, and no gloves. When leaving the orphanage, no one had prepared winter gear for him, and he had found heavy clothing cumbersome, so he only brought a single bag.
Looking back, this had been shortsighted. Britain's higher latitude meant much colder winters than he was used to, and now he was paying the price for prioritizing convenience.
As December advanced, the weather grew even harsher. Thick, gray snowflakes swirled through the air, sealing every window and dimming the castle considerably during the day.
Fortunately, one morning, Miranda's owl delivered a package of two sweaters and a scarf Hoffa had ordered from a clothing shop in London.
The chestnut-colored owl looked utterly exhausted from the journey, and Hoffa felt a pang of guilt and sympathy. He wanted to reward the bird with a bit of warm pumpkin juice.
But after dropping the package, the owl flew off on its own without paying him any attention.
"Your owl has quite a personality," Hoffa remarked to Miranda.
"It's just not used to eating food from strangers," Miranda replied.
As they spoke, Professor Gorshak appeared beside the Ravenclaw table. Miranda immediately lowered her head, clearly reluctant to interact with her grandfather.
However, Gorshak merely cast a brief glance at his granddaughter before pulling out a list for students to sign, asking those staying at school over Christmas to add their names.
Without hesitation, Hoffa signed. If he didn't stay at school, he would have to return to Wood's Orphanage in London, something he was keen to avoid.
What surprised him was that Miranda also signed the list.
"You're not going home for the holidays? I mean, you're definitely from a wizarding family, right?" Hoffa asked.
"Of course," Miranda replied with a smile. "But now it's just me and my grandfather left in the family."
"What?" Hoffa was stunned. He had never asked about Miranda's family situation before. "What about your parents...?"
"They're both dead," Miranda said calmly. Noticing Hoffa's shocked expression, she smiled again.
"It's quite normal, isn't it? I'd bet a third of the students in this hall have family members who died in the world wars. Besides, they passed away when I was a child, so I don't really remember them."
Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Hoffa couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Miranda's words gave him a deeper understanding of the world he was now a part of.
A Third
If he remembered correctly, the original owner of this body, a Chinese-born father, had also died during World War I.
The Muggle war ended in 1918, twenty years before the current timeline.
Since he was now 11 years old, this body's father couldn't have died in the Muggle conflict.
Could he have been a wizard? A Chinese wizard?
Wizard conflicts, after all, never truly end.
Hoffa recalled the poster he'd seen in Hogsmeade and fell into thought.
Time passed, and the wind and snow grew fiercer. Most castle windows were tightly shut, blocked by snow piling higher each day. The glass area through which one could glimpse outside grew smaller and smaller.
Even when the view was unobstructed, everything beyond was blanketed in white—a seamless expanse where grass and the Black Lake were indistinguishable.
The snow-laden castle left Hoffa with an unsettling feeling, a sense of foreboding, as if he were on the set of The Shining.
Many students used their wands to shape the snow into all sorts of bizarre and whimsical creations, even holding snowman-building contests.
Among the first-years, Aglaea conjured a massive, lifelike Welsh Green dragon with her wand, standing over ten meters tall and earning enthusiastic applause from everyone.
Hoffa, however, did not participate. Every day after class, he wrapped himself tightly in his scarf and hurried through the corridors. The grounds outside were like a magical snow-filled battlefield, where enchanted snowballs darted about as if in a chaotic snow-covered Iraq. A moment of carelessness could easily result in getting hit by overzealous classmates.
Apart from attending classes, Hoffa rarely left the common room. Even with his newly acquired scarf and sweaters, he preferred staying by the crackling fireplace, working on calculations for his magical power-restoration potion.
He knew that if he asked Aglaea now, she would likely tell him what he needed to know.
But he couldn't bring himself to ask.
On the second Sunday of December, Hoffa was in the common room researching potions while Miranda sat cross-legged nearby, casually reading a book.
Suddenly, a commotion came from the doorway. Aglaea, fresh from playing in the snow, appeared. She lingered for a moment, then enthusiastically sat down across from Hoffa and Miranda.
She shook her head, sending snowflakes from her silvery hair flying into Hoffa's face. He quickly shielded his parchment to protect it.
"Something amazing happened! Guess what?"
Aglaea addressed Miranda excitedly, deliberately raising her voice.
"The Ministry of Magic made you the Minister?" Miranda quipped without looking up, turning a page with a smirk.
The two actually got along quite well and often joked with each other. In fact, Miranda got along with pretty much everyone.
"Of course not! Let me tell you, Charles Crouch has been sent on a school mission and won't be back for a long time."
"Charles Crouch?" Miranda asked absentmindedly, turning another page. "Who's Charles Crouch? What are you even talking about?"
"The Seeker! The Seeker!" Aglaea exclaimed, leaning on the table with her elbows.
"Crouch is the Seeker for our house Quidditch team. With him gone, it's my chance to take his place! And this match is crucial. The captain told me that if we beat Slytherin, we'll qualify for this year's Quidditch final."
Hoffa tapped his wand on the water pooling on the table from the melting snow and muttered, "Impervius." Instantly, the water was absorbed by the wand.
Miranda, still unperturbed, continued flipping pages.
"And then what?"
Aglaea, annoyed by Miranda's lack of enthusiasm, retorted, "Don't tell me you're not even planning to watch the Quidditch match?"
Miranda murmured, "I never said I wouldn't."
"Ha, that's more like it! Let me tell you, if I help our house win the Cup, the Seeker position will officially be mine next year," Aglaea said, punching the air confidently.
Curious, Miranda asked, "And what about Charles Crouch? Why isn't he playing in such an important match?"
"Who knows? Maybe his skills are outdated, or perhaps the school has other plans for him," Aglaea replied dismissively.
Then, as if only just noticing Hoffa sitting beside Miranda, she cleared her throat, straightened up, and casually asked, "What about you?"
It took Hoffa a moment to realize she was talking to him. This was their first exchange since being discharged from the hospital a month ago.
"Uh… I'll go," he replied awkwardly.
The next second…
Outside the common room, the shouts of a group of rowdy children rang out once more, and Aglaea dashed off to join the chaos without hesitation.
After she left, Miranda gave Hoffa a peculiar look.
She adjusted her glasses thoughtfully.
"How odd. She actually asked if you were going."
Hoffa shrugged and spread his parchment on the table.
"Who knows."
Miranda glanced at the white expanse outside the window, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you really going to watch? The snow's so heavy."
Hoffa sighed. "What else can I do? Didn't you tell me earlier to go cheer them on at the pitch?"
The next day, in the pitch darkness, Hoffa felt someone nudging him awake. He opened his eyes to see his dormmate William, who was already changing into his morning robes by the four-poster bed next to his.
"Come on, Hoffa, the match starts early!"
Hoffa groggily reached for his clock. It was only 6:30. Getting up this early in the winter felt torturous.
He muttered curses toward Aglaea, regretting that he had reconciled with her, and rolled over to continue sleeping.
But his dormmates were all up, chattering excitedly about the grand scenes they imagined would unfold during Ravenclaw's first match.
Unable to ignore the noise, Hoffa reluctantly sat up, yawning as he changed into his clothes.
Grand scenes? Highly unlikely. With the snow coming down like this, they probably wouldn't even be able to see the players.
In the Great Hall, Hoffa sat at the table with a plate, yawning as he scooped pumpkin porridge.
The hall was nearly empty at this early hour.
A moment later, a blur of blue sat across from him.
It was Aglaea, already dressed in her bright blue team robes. She sat staring blankly at a bowl of porridge, her face pale.
She was probably nervous—it was likely her first official match.
"So, even you get nervous, huh?" Seeing no one around, Hoffa muttered as he sipped his porridge. "If you're worried about embarrassing yourself, I might just skip watching."
"Shut up," she snapped, glaring at him. "Just watch me crush Slytherin."
With that, she started eating her porridge.
Simple reverse psychology, Hoffa thought.
Other team members began trickling in, and the four house tables were abuzz with chatter. Many students sported banners or had their faces painted in house colors, a testament to Quidditch's popularity in this world.
After breakfast, a massive crowd of students and teachers swarmed toward the pitch. Shoulder to shoulder, they packed into the stands.
Back in his previous life, Hoffa had often read about Quidditch from Harry's perspective and imagined soaring over the pitch, the center of attention.
Unfortunately, reality had other plans. This time around, he had no talent for Quidditch and could only experience the game as a mere spectator.
With a sharp whistle from the flying instructor, Professor Pallio, the Quidditch players pulled their feet free from the knee-deep snow. Mounting their brooms, they rose into the sky.
The crowd erupted in cheers, while the commentator passionately detailed the strengths and weaknesses of each team.
Seekers, typically the lightest and most agile players, were also the fastest fliers on the team. As Hoffa expected, the heavy snowfall made it nearly impossible to see any player clearly, let alone the smallest ones like the Seekers.
He had to strain his eyes to spot Aglaea. Often, as soon as he found her, she disappeared into the swirling snow.
In his past life, Hoffa had watched soccer and had a decent understanding of sports, but Quidditch was a hundred times harder to follow.
If soccer was like a 2.5D game, complete with professional broadcasts and replays akin to League of Legends matches, Quidditch was pure 3D chaos—like watching an Overwatch match with no commentary or replays. The constant motion was dizzying.
More often than not, the crowd erupted into cheers before Hoffa even realized something exciting had happened. By the time he focused, the moment was over.
Within minutes, Hoffa felt overwhelmed. The sheer number of balls and their frantic trajectories made it impossible to know where to focus. He couldn't find the fun in it at all.
To make matters worse, the golden markings on his arm stirred again, draining his magical energy.
Frustrated, Hoffa silently stood up, slipping away from the cheering students and descending the tall stands.
Quidditch matches weren't quick affairs. He decided to find a quiet spot to meditate and recover his magic.
Interestingly, the golden tattoo had been demanding less energy lately. Hoffa wasn't sure why.
As he left the roaring pitch, a sense of relief washed over him—like a fish returning to water.
Standing in the vast white expanse of snow, he stretched, deciding to stay nearby and meditate. He could return when the crowd's cheers signaled the match's climax.
After meditating for half an hour, the magical drain finally ceased.
Brushing snow off his clothes, Hoffa prepared to head back to the pitch when he noticed a familiar figure emerge from the castle.
It was Joey, storming out, his face twisted with anger.
Behind him trailed Professor Goshawk.
Joey appeared agitated, shouting loudly at the professor. When he finished, he kicked the thick snow in frustration and stomped away from the castle in a rage.
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09