Spring of 1939 arrived as promised. Outside the castle, the deep blue mountains were draped in a violet sky, the horizon edged with pink clouds.
Young wizards often ran freely across the hills, releasing magical kites that needed no strings, or playing frisbee on the grass.
But their joy had nothing to do with Hoffa, who was facing an unprecedented challenge.
He had no way to overcome Grindelwald's Transfiguration spell.
Absolutely no way.
Hoffa had always excelled in Transfiguration, able to transform his wand into fantastical shapes with ease.
But this spell? He had no clue how to handle it.
He practiced relentlessly, almost without rest.
Practicing while eating, before sleeping, during classes—even in the restroom.
He studied Grindelwald's casting motions, the flow of his mental energy, and every detail he could observe.
Yet no matter what he tried, the spell remained locked, as if bound by chains.
After countless grueling hours of practice, he managed minor changes, but they were futile and forced.
Grindelwald had shattered islands, but Hoffa could only crack the ground slightly or make a stone hand as small as a mushroom emerge.
Hoffa understood the magical theory behind Transfiguration and tried to connect with the essence of earth and soil, attempting to understand them spiritually. Yet no matter how deeply he tried, the changes he could summon were limited.
He had hit a major bottleneck—a Transfiguration bottleneck.
Not even Milarepa's meditation techniques could help him decipher the magic this time.
As the days passed, the vibrant spring slowly enveloped the school. Outside the windows, the grass was covered with blooming heather.
But Hoffa's condition worsened.
The overwhelming workload, the looming threat of a world war, and the hidden danger of Miranda's darker personality combined into a pressure unlike anything Hoffa had faced in both his lives.
He began to suffer from anxiety, insomnia, nightmares, and even nausea. The school's usual culinary delights no longer appealed to him.
Blisters appeared at the corners of his mouth from the stress, and he visited Healer Leiner daily for treatment.
Among the other patients were some senior Hogwarts students about to graduate. Each time they saw Hoffa, they were shocked. They couldn't comprehend why an 11-year-old first-year student was exhibiting the same symptoms as them.
Hoffa spent every day buried in the library.
But it was futile. The more knowledge he accumulated, the farther away a solution seemed.
He thought about giving up. But whenever he recalled the words Miller had spoken to him that night, he dismissed the idea immediately. This was a battle tied to his beliefs, and he didn't want to back down even an inch.
March ended, and April gradually arrived.
One evening at dinner, Hoffa was in terrible shape.
A month had passed, and he still couldn't unravel Grindelwald's spell.
On April Fool's Day, he sat listlessly at the dining table, mechanically eating mashed potatoes. Doubts about his talent as a wizard crept into his mind.
Was Grindelwald truly such a genius?
At that moment, Miranda began to grow suspicious of Hoffa's erratic behavior.
In the month since Hoffa had started learning Shattering Grasp, he had barely spent any time alone with her. That evening at the Ravenclaw table, she remarked, "Hoffa, it's harder to see you than the Minister of Magic."
She was joking, but Hoffa gave her an empty glance. Slowly, his gaze focused on her.
Was she mocking him?
A wave of negativity enveloped Hoffa, and his thoughts began to shift.
The words Miller had spoken that night loomed in his mind like a haunting shadow, blurring the lines between Miranda and Miller.
Miranda lowered her head and smiled. "Are you having trouble with something? Do you need my help?"
This question was like the straw that broke the camel's back. It conjured the image of the giant shark baring its bloody jaws at him that night. Days of anxiety found their outlet.
Hoffa raised his head coldly and replied flatly, "I don't need help from a lunatic."
Miranda's eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at Hoffa, as if meeting him for the first time.
Her expression resembled that of a faded porcelain doll, its luster suddenly gone, leaving it grotesque and unsettling.
In the dining hall, an inexplicable magical ripple spread like waves. The enchanted ceiling above them abruptly changed, prompting all the students to gasp and look up.
The fork in Hoffa's hand suddenly twisted and bent, as if it were made of wax.
Nearby, Aglaia immediately sensed something was wrong. She watched as Miranda slowly stood up, her movements stiff. Aglaia lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Miranda's neck.
Grinning, she said, "Miranda! I've got good news—want to hear it?"
Miranda kept her gaze fixed on Hoffa, but as Aglaia held her tightly, color gradually returned to her face, which had resembled an old, faded porcelain doll. Slowly, her expression returned to normal. She blinked and replied numbly, "What's the good news?"
"The good news is that I'm joining this year's Quidditch finals!"
Miranda asked, "Oh? When is it?"
"Next month, a month before exams end," Aglaia replied, her arms trembling slightly as she hugged Miranda tightly.
Miranda continued, "So, you've already started training?"
"Yep," Aglaia said, winking at Hoffa, signaling him to leave quickly.
Aglaia added, "We've got a few friendly matches beforehand, but those don't matter. You'll come watch the finals, won't you?"
Hoffa silently placed the warped fork on the table. He knew Aglaia was helping him out of a tense situation. Things had spiraled out of control; this wasn't like him at all.
Taking a few deep breaths, he said, "I'll go."
Without another word, he turned and quickly left the Ravenclaw table.
His pace quickened—from a brisk walk to a jog, and finally to a full sprint.
When he reached the castle grounds, he stopped abruptly, leaning against the wall, pale-faced, his stomach churning.
The anxiety that had been building for days had reached its peak. When Miranda had shown her magical power moments ago, he had nearly lost his composure and self-control.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Hoffa began meditating, his mind racing to stabilize itself.
Finally, after some time, he managed to regain a fragile sense of calm.
He realized he had hit a major life bottleneck.
How do I break through it?
How can my Transfiguration advance to the next level?
Hoffa didn't know the answer.
Giving up wasn't an option. Straightening his back, he prepared to head back and continue seeking a solution.
But just as he turned, a strange popping sound came from the glowing green edges of the Forbidden Forest near the hunting grounds.
Looking up, Hoffa saw a small, pink land bird approaching from a distance. It had a large beak and green wings, its appearance both endearing and intriguing.
Even more astonishing, with each step, the bird would teleport several meters ahead, moving at an incredible speed.
The popping noises were the result of the bird's teleportation bursts.
It was a dodo—a flightless bird species capable of teleportation.
Hoffa froze. Wasn't this the young dodo he and Joey had rescued in the Forbidden Forest months ago? Had it already grown up?
Curious about why the dodo had come to the hunting grounds, Hoffa watched as the bird turned its pink head and locked its gaze on him.
Excited, it bounced twice, teleporting with two quick pops until it appeared right beside him.
It nipped at Hoffa's trouser leg and dropped a letter at his feet before rubbing affectionately against his side.
It turned out the dodo was a messenger.
Hoffa, his face a bit pale, gently patted the bird's head and muttered, "Are you here to make fun of me too?"
The dodo didn't reply. Instead, with a pop, it teleported onto Hoffa's head and began pecking at his hair.
Sighing in resignation, Hoffa picked up the letter the bird had dropped.
Inside were just a few lines:
"Thank you so much for the weather blanket, Hoffa. Maya is about to be born, and without your help, she wouldn't be this healthy. I don't want you to miss her rebirth. If you can, please come to the treehouse immediately. —Joey"
Maya, Joey's Thunderbird, was about to hatch!
Hoffa slowly looked up.
Caught up in his studies and fraught with anxiety over Transfiguration, he had completely forgotten about the weather blanket he'd gifted Joey during Christmas.
He hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided to go.
A Thunderbird's birth was a rare event—rarer even than dragons—and no matter how busy he was, he didn't want to miss it.
Hurrying towards the Forbidden Forest, the dodo teleported down from his head and led the way, moving quickly and pausing now and then to wait for him.
Crossing the sunlit fields of spring, Hoffa reached Joey's treehouse. He noticed piles of freshly cut oak stumps scattered around the area, split and strewn haphazardly.
Joey, busy tinkering with a metal bucket on the treehouse, spotted Hoffa and quickly tossed down a soft ladder.
"Come on up!"
Joey was in high spirits, his face glowing with excitement.
Climbing up, Hoffa followed Joey into the treehouse.
The entire room buzzed with a peculiar electrical charge.
Hoffa's weather blanket, thick with storm clouds and crackling with lightning, lay in the corner.
The egg sitting on the blanket was cracking audibly. Without needing to be told, Joey handed Hoffa a pair of glasses.
Hoffa put them on.
Inside the egg, a mysterious blue substance swirled energetically, mirroring the stormy energy of the weather blanket.
Within the blue fluid, the embryo twisted and turned, searching for a comfortable position. After failing to find one, it made a decisive move—it no longer wanted to stay inside.
With a sudden lift of its head, it pecked sharply.
"Well done!" Joey exclaimed in delight as a small gray beak poked through the shell.
Hoffa instinctively slid his chair back. The ionized air from the weather blanket caused his hair to stand on end.
Crack!
A tiny claw broke through the shell.
Boom!
A miniature lightning bolt from the weather blanket struck the egg.
The creature inside chirped happily.
Moments later, it pushed the shell apart and jumped out.
It was a wrinkly, gray little bird, not much different from a typical hatchling, except its head and claws were slightly oversized.
No sooner had it emerged than it turned to Hoffa, chirping loudly with its gray beak wide open.
Weak electric currents snapped and crackled around Hoffa's face, making his scalp tingle. Reflexively, he leaned back.
Joey shoved a square box into Hoffa's hands.
"Quick, feed it!"
Inside the box were fat, white oak grubs.
So that's why Joey had chopped down all those trees—to harvest the insects inside.
"Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!"
Maya chirped louder, drawn by the smell. She was hungry.
Hoffa picked up a squishy grub and popped it into her open beak.
Snap!
The gray beak clamped shut, swallowing the grub in one swift motion.
The oak worm disappeared without even a struggle.
"Chirp, chirp, chirp."
Maya, after eating one, chirped even more hungrily.
Hoffa quickly grabbed another worm.
This repeated ten times, with Maya eating ten worms in total, yet she showed no signs of being full.
Every time she finished one, she opened her mouth for another.
Hoffa was astonished. "How much is she going to eat?"
The ten worms he had fed her were larger than the size of two hatchlings combined.
"Keep feeding her, don't stop," Joey instructed. "She's a Thunderbird, and her appetite is enormous. Keep going—I'll get more food."
With that, Joey clambered down the ladder. Before long, he returned carrying a massive iron bucket filled with a variety of foods: fresh meat, fish, shrimp, and even scorpions.
Hoffa was stunned as he tossed worms into the Thunderbird's open mouth, his pace quickening.
The little creature devoured everything without hesitation.
Eventually, Hoffa tipped the entire box of worms into Maya's mouth like pouring out trash.
Her throat moved rhythmically as the worms vanished into her stomach, almost as though her gut had been enchanted with an undetectable expansion spell.
Intrigued, Hoffa grabbed a pair of red goggles and examined her body carefully, curious about where all that food was going.
Through the goggles, he discovered that the little creature had three hearts, beating in perfect synchronization like a finely tuned machine.
Her blood flowed rapidly, almost like electricity, and as it circulated, the food was swiftly and completely digested.
Just as Hoffa was marveling, Joey placed the scorpion bucket on the table with a loud clatter.
"Stop gawking. There'll be plenty of time to observe her later. Thunderbirds are at their most vulnerable right after hatching, and they need a lot of food."
Looking at the wriggling black scorpions in the bucket, Hoffa hesitated. "Can she really eat these things?"
Joey tossed him a pair of dragon-hide gloves.
"Scorpions are nothing. When she grows up, she'll be one of the top predators on the American continent. She'll eat anything. Now's your chance to bond with her. It'll be much harder to win her favor when she's older."
Hoffa picked up a fat, writhing black scorpion and slowly brought it close to the hatchling's beak.
The scorpion struggled violently, its tail flailing.
But the hatchling's seemingly soft skin was tough as leather, with electric currents faintly visible beneath the surface.
Maya bit down on the scorpion's tail and crunched it up like a biscuit, swallowing it without hesitation.
The sight of her eating was so satisfying that Hoffa felt a bit hungry himself.
The two of them fed Maya from daytime until night. She devoured everything Joey had prepared.
Content, she paced back and forth on the weather blanket. Hoffa wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but the little Thunderbird already seemed larger than when she had first hatched.
Hoffa tentatively reached out to touch the chubby, featherless bird. She didn't resist much but let out a displeased chirp, as if saying, "Stop that! Don't touch me!"
So proud, yet who had just spent hours feeding you?
Hoffa poked Maya's belly in protest. A faint spark of electricity crackled, making Hoffa twitch.
Just then, Joey returned from cleaning up. He tried to pet Maya as well, but the moment he touched her head, a thick bolt of lightning leaped from the storm clouds above the weather blanket, striking his hand.
The zap was far stronger than what Hoffa had experienced. Joey's hair stood on end, yet he burst into laughter.
Seeing his joy, Hoffa couldn't help but ask, "Do you still want Talas?"
Joey smiled and shook his head. "I've made peace with it. Talas taught me to let go of my obsession and enjoy the present. That's what I should do."
Hoffa looked at the young Thunderbird bouncing around on the blanket. For a moment, he was transfixed.
For some reason, he saw a faint glimmer of dawn-like hope in the little creature, even if that glimmer was still very faint.
(End of Chapter)
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