At this moment, the Christmas feast had already begun downstairs. Outside in the snowy grounds, many wizards lit their wands, singing in the snow.
Colorful fireworks bloomed in the sky, forming the shapes of various animals.
The scene was dazzling.
But at the top of the castle, in a dark corridor, Hoffa walked slowly.
Moonlight streamed through the Gothic windows at the tower's peak, casting even patches of light on the floor. The occasional bursts of fireworks lit up Hoffa's face in alternating flashes of red and green.
An invisible force seemed to divide him from the lively world below. He remained vigilant, his meditation technique constantly at work.
His mind was razor-sharp.
As he walked, the short sword in his hand gradually morphed into a katana, the blade's tip leaving a faint scratch on the ground.
Rounding a corner, Hoffa suddenly stopped. He squinted and tilted his head as faint snippets of conversation reached his ears.
"...Who did the Ministry send?"
The voice sounded familiar.
Someone was approaching—it was a teacher from the school.
Hoffa deactivated his meditation and transformed the katana back into a wand. Pressing himself against the wall, he hid behind a suit of armor.
The voices grew louder.
Soon, two figures in robes emerged from the shadows, one tall and the other slender.
Hoffa recognized them immediately—it was Dumbledore and Dippet.
As they walked, Dippet asked, "Did Albert arrive?"
Dumbledore replied, "Yes, he's gone to see Slughorn. You know, they were schoolmates."
Dippet fell silent for a moment.
After some thought, Dumbledore asked, "Should I go check on them?"
"Yes, Albus, go. I feel your concerns aren't unwarranted. Protect him—don't let anything happen to him at Hogwarts. The Ministry has been watching closely lately."
As they spoke, the two men came closer.
Hoffa now understood why the masked figure had hidden.
Faced with the current and former headmasters of Hogwarts, Hoffa didn't dare linger. Activating his Ghostly Walk, he entered the shadowy world of gray and white.
The two men walked past the suit of armor.
Dumbledore asked with concern, "You're leaving again in May?"
"There's no other choice. This year's situation has become incredibly dire. The Austrian Ministry of Magic has already collapsed. If the agreement isn't signed soon, it may be too late."
Dumbledore hesitated. "Then I—"
Dippet interrupted, "I'll have Adebay go with me. You won't come along, and we're short on hands. After I leave, handle the school's affairs."
Their voices grew fainter as they walked further away. Hoffa slowly exited the shadow realm.
Dumbledore's voice echoed faintly: "If the Violet group were still around, they definitely wouldn't—"
"That's not your concern, Albus. There's no need to bring up the past. Go to Slughorn for now."
"Understood."
With that, Dippet opened a gargoyle-shaped stone door and disappeared inside.
Dumbledore, however, remained where he was, standing silently for a long time. He frowned, tilting his head as if sensing something.
Hoffa cautiously backed away. He hadn't expected the masked figure's destination to be the headmaster's office.
Whatever reason the current and former headmasters had for their discussion, it was definitely not something a first-year student should meddle with.
He needed to leave this trouble-filled place as soon as possible.
Reaching the end of the corridor near a suit of steel armor, Hoffa breathed a small sigh of relief.
He was almost out.
But then, the eerie presence suddenly intensified.
He looked up.
There, at the railing of the next floor up, the masked figure was staring coldly at him.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then, the figure's lips curled into a mocking smirk. Casually, it tossed a pebble, which struck the steel armor beside Hoffa's head.
Clang.
The sharp sound echoed crisply and loudly in the corridor of the night.
Even at a time like this, that figure still wanted to frame him.
Hoffa froze for a second but forcibly suppressed his urge to run away. He stood motionless, staring intently at the figure upstairs. He hadn't done anything wrong—why should he run?
In the distance, Dumbledore abruptly turned his head.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished from where he stood and reappeared beside Hoffa.
The two of them, one tall and one short, stood side by side, staring at the figure on the second floor.
Under Dumbledore's gaze, the strange figure gave Hoffa a calm smile and strolled away nonchalantly.
Dumbledore frowned deeply but made no move to stop it.
Seeing the somber expression on the tall man beside him, a sense of unease welled up in Hoffa's heart.
He finally realized what was wrong.
It seemed that, aside from himself, no one else could see that figure.
After a long silence, Dumbledore lowered his head and looked at Hoffa. "What are you doing here?"
His tone was calm, devoid of any emotion.
"I got lost, sir," Hoffa replied, keeping his head down.
Dumbledore nodded lightly, seemingly unbothered, though his gaze lingered on the second floor.
"I see. Have you had dinner?"
"No."
"Hmm, come with me. I'll take you to get something to eat," Dumbledore said, finally shifting his attention away from upstairs. He patted Hoffa's shoulder in a firm yet natural manner, leaving no room for objection.
"Where to?" Hoffa asked.
"To your Potions teacher. We'll ask him for a glass of aged house-elf wine," Dumbledore said, a trace of nostalgia crossing his face.
With that, he strode ahead, leading Hoffa out of the area.
Hoffa followed behind, glancing back at every step, but the masked figure had long since disappeared.
The two walked in silence for a while.
Finally, after they had left the tower where the headmaster's office was located, Hoffa couldn't help but look up and ask, "Did you see anything unusual?"
Dumbledore's steps faltered briefly, a hint of surprise flashing across his face.
"Hmm, you sensed it too?"
"Yes," Hoffa nodded.
But Dumbledore didn't press further. Instead, he stroked his auburn beard and remarked, "Wizards with minds sharper than most often sense things unseen by others when they are young. Those elusive magical essences, phantoms that drift on the border between reality and illusion... It's a gift, but also a curse."
"Did you see it?" Hoffa asked. "That...?"
"I can't see it. Sensing something doesn't mean being able to see it. I'm old," Dumbledore said, shaking his head with a faint air of detachment. "Sometimes, seeing the unusual isn't a blessing. Bach, you're still young—you should focus your energy on friends in the real world."
Can't see it?Even though Hoffa had been bracing himself, his heart sank when he heard this.
He recalled the three times he had encountered that masked figure.
The faint noise echoed crisply through the quiet corridor of the night.
This figure still had the audacity to frame him at such a moment.
Hoffa froze for a second but suppressed his instinct to flee. He stood still, locking his gaze on the figure upstairs. He hadn't done anything wrong—why should he run?
In the distance, Dumbledore abruptly turned his head.
In a flash, he vanished from where he was and reappeared beside Hoffa.
The two, one tall and one short, stood side by side, staring at the figure on the second floor.
Under Dumbledore's scrutiny, the strange figure calmly smiled at Hoffa before sauntering away.
Dumbledore frowned deeply but made no move to stop it.
Noticing the solemn look on the tall man beside him, a sense of unease crept into Hoffa's heart.
He finally realized what was wrong.
It seemed that, apart from himself, no one else could see the figure.
Walking down the tower, Hoffa wanted to ask more questions, but Dumbledore had already strode forward, engaging warmly with a few wizards they encountered.
They eventually arrived at Slughorn's office.
Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House, was unlike his predecessors. His office wasn't in the dungeons but on the third floor of the castle, adjacent to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Merrythought's office.
Perhaps Slughorn believed this location was better suited for hosting gatherings.
After exchanging pleasantries and passing two house-elves collecting invitations, Hoffa spotted Slughorn.
The portly man, dressed in a purple smoking jacket, stood cheerfully at the doorway, chatting animatedly.
Seeing Dumbledore arrive with Hoffa, he looked slightly startled but quickly composed himself and hurried over to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore gave Hoffa a little nudge, signaling him to enter the office alone, leaving them some privacy to talk.
Whether it was naturally this way or due to some enchantment, Slughorn's office was far larger than a typical teacher's room.
Green, deep red, and gold drapes hung from the ceiling and walls, making the space feel like a grand tent.
The room was crowded and warm, lit by a golden chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. Real fairies flitted within it, each glowing brightly.
A few elderly wizards, engrossed in conversation, puffed smoke from their pipes, while house-elves carrying heavy silver trays scurried about, setting up the dining table.
The room was already bustling with people of all ages, men and women alike, all dressed in formal robes.
Hoffa quickly spotted Miranda and Aglaea amidst a group of older students.
Both were well-dressed, one looking regal and elegant, the other petite and adorable.
This made Hoffa feel a bit uncomfortable; he was wearing only his school robes, not formal attire.
He also noticed Tom Riddle standing by a Christmas tree adorned with colorful ornaments.
The once-orphanage rival now exuded the charm of a social butterfly. Despite his modest attire, his composed demeanor and striking looks attracted the attention of many adults.
With his courteous manners, no one would have linked him to the future Dark Lord.
Aglaea spotted Hoffa almost immediately, her expression momentarily surprised. She leaned close to Miranda and whispered something.
Miranda turned to look at him, but she merely nodded in acknowledgment, showing no particular emotion.
Hoffa awkwardly returned the nod.
She had invited him earlier, and he hadn't come.
Yet now, here he was, brought along by Dumbledore midway.
From Miranda's perspective, Hoffa couldn't help but feel like he was being petty.
Soon, the dining table was ready.
Unlike the grandeur of the Great Hall, this gathering was more akin to a family feast—less grandiose but refined and elaborate.
House-elves bustled around Hoffa's feet, each balancing a silver tray on their heads.
It seemed Slughorn preferred pomp and tradition over conjuring food with a snap of his fingers.
This also gave Hoffa a chance to observe traditional Western holiday festivities up close.
There was roast turkey stuffed with truffles, neatly arranged roast quail, rich piles of gravy, creamy baked corn pudding, and meticulously sliced meat pies topped with strawberry sauce.
Small porcelain dishes held individual servings of almond pudding, likely one for each guest.
There was even a roasted suckling pig with a bright red apple in its mouth—a visually stunning centerpiece.
Gazing at the array of delicacies before him, Hoffa suddenly realized how hungry he was. He had climbed at least forty floors while chasing the faceless figure earlier.
But there was an awkward problem: having no prior experience with private parties, no friends present, and no guidance on etiquette, Hoffa wasn't sure where to sit.
(End of chapter)
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