With a single strike, the sword came crashing down!
It tore through the darkness like the break of dawn, illuminating the world with brilliant light.
Hoffa's mental field encompassed the entirety of the Astronomy Tower.
He emerged from the layers of consciousness and returned to the real world.
Everything around him was as it had been, except for Miranda, who lay collapsed on the ground.
A faint shadow of black mist lingered before her, the remnants of Miller and its mental field now completely severed in two.
Under the force of Hoffa's mental field, the shadow could barely remain upright.
"What… what kind of magic is this?" Miller shrieked in terror.
Hoffa tilted his head slightly and replied softly, "It's not magic."
With that, he raised his hand and clenched his fist.
Bang!
The mental field shattered Miller's form into nothingness.
The black mist dissipated.
On the Astronomy Tower, Miranda clutched her chest, stumbling as she tried to back away, her eyes fixed on Hoffa with an expression of pure disbelief, as though he were an incomprehensible enigma.
Hoffa stood calmly, gazing at her.
He sheathed his wand and walked toward her with steady steps.
"Stay away! Don't come near me!" Miranda shouted in panic.
Hoffa stopped in front of her, knelt down on one knee, and looked directly into her brown eyes. Gently, he cupped her face in his hands and said softly, "I understand now. You should have told me earlier."
"What good would that do? Would you even understand?" Miranda snapped. "We've lived completely different lives. You can't possibly comprehend."
Hoffa replied, "You're right. I'm not particularly clever. Among the Ravenclaws, I'm just an ordinary person. But I can feel your pain."
"You can't, Hoffa Bach!" Miranda shook her head violently, trying to push herself further away. "You don't understand anything. You only care about yourself."
She twisted her head, trying to break free from his grasp.
"That may be true, but even so, I'm telling you—I understand."
Hoffa took a deep breath, holding her face firmly as he continued, "Your dark past has weighed you down, but I'm just as haunted by the terrifying future.
"This entire year, I've lived in the shadow of war, consumed by fear and worry about what lies ahead. I've felt restless, anxious, desperate, and even furious."
"Shut up!"
Miranda stopped moving, her voice rising into a shout.
Hoffa pressed his lips together briefly, then spoke again.
"But that's wrong. Completely wrong."
"Stop talking! Please, just stop!" Miranda's voice now carried a note of pleading.
Hoffa raised his head, meeting her gaze directly. "Humans are creatures of the present. We live in the here and now. No matter how dark the past is or how frightening the future may seem, life is still life. Miranda, the past isn't a reason to give up on yourself or on living."
Miranda trembled uncontrollably, her body shaking as she gritted her teeth and replied, "This has nothing to do with you."
"And what if I say it does?"
Her chest rose and fell violently as she glared at him. "You're right. I am guarded, solitary, and I see friendships differently than you do. But that doesn't mean I lack feelings or that I've never considered you a friend."
Hoffa's eyes glistened slightly, and he smiled. "Friends are like family—sometimes, we don't get to choose them. When you let me into your compartment on the train, we were already friends, weren't we?"
The two of them locked eyes across the space between them.
The raging magical energy in the air gradually subsided, and the swirling dust settled.
Hoffa opened his hands, palms up, and said sincerely, "I'm here right now. Isn't that enough?"
For a moment, silence reigned.
Miranda couldn't hold it in anymore. She bit her lip, her expression crumbling.
Finally, she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. "Hoffa... what should I do? What can I possibly do?"
"It's okay, it's okay! Just tell me!" Hoffa held Miranda's face firmly, looking into her eyes.
"This isn't your fault. Tell me—where are those dark wizards? What is Grindelwald's plan? I'll stop it. There's still time!"
"I... I let them in through the secret passage," Miranda choked out between sobs. "I directed them to the Quidditch pitch. They're using venomous panthers."
"Dumbledore! Can Dumbledore stop them?"
Miranda shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "It's too late! It's all too late. I stole Slughorn's Sleeping Draught and tricked him into drinking it. Now, he can't wake up. No one can stop Rutrow now."
A chill ran through Hoffa's body as he stood abruptly, looking toward the distant Quidditch pitch.
Sure enough, gray mist was already spreading there.
The Quidditch pitch was out of control.
What now?
Is it too late?
No, there has to be a way.
Hoffa turned back quickly, stepping toward the weeping Miranda. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up.
"Can you still move?"
"I... I can!"
"Good," Hoffa said decisively. "Go to Slughorn's office. Find the antidote and take it to the Quidditch pitch. Wake up Dumbledore. I'll head to the pitch and get those people out."
"What are you going to do?" Miranda's tears halted as she asked, her lips pale with fear.
"Don't worry about me. Do your part. Go, quickly!"
Hoffa gave her shoulder a firm push. She stared at him, wide-eyed, before nodding slightly. Covering her mouth, she turned and ran off.
Now.
Hoffa stood alone atop the Astronomy Tower.
He thought furiously, planning his next move.
He had to do something—something to change this.
He gazed at the distant Quidditch pitch, the growing mist, and the crowds there. What could he do? If he didn't act fast, death was inevitable.
Then he remembered what Indor had once told him.
The venomous panthers' gas is weak against water.
I need water. That's the key to saving them.
But how could he get there?
Run?Too slow.
Fly?
Yes—on a broomstick!
But I don't have a broomstick.
Summoning Charm?
No, I don't know it well enough.
Even if he did, Hoffa wasn't naturally gifted at flying.
He clenched his teeth, muttering to himself.
At that moment, he entered a strange meditative state. His mind became sharper, his focus more intense.
I have to fly. There must be a way!
There had to be something.
Memories of the past semester flashed through his mind—the lessons, the spells, everything he had learned.
And then, an audacious, almost reckless plan formed in his mind.
Fly!
Hoffa looked up at the sky, his lips pale but determined.
I'm going to fly!
As the thought crystallized, his mental field shifted dramatically.
In the sky above, threads of cloud began to gather, swirling together.
"I'm going to fly!" he shouted, his voice resonating through the storm.
Hoffa roared toward the heavens.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to change his surroundings. He wanted to pursue something—not something from the past, nor the future, but something that existed only in the present.
He recalled a passage from Morgan's book: Through magic, one traverses between subject and object. The greatest challenge is not understanding the target but deeply understanding oneself. Those who cannot thoroughly dissect their own essence can never become true masters of transformation.
Above him, storm clouds gathered slowly, and the golden markings on his arm began to spread, inch by inch, until they covered his entire body.
He closed his eyes, his spirit diving entirely into the essence of his own physical being.
"I want to understand myself," he murmured softly.
In the sky, dense clouds converged, and the low rumble of thunder echoed. The atmosphere grew increasingly volatile and unnatural.
"I want to understand myself!"
Hoffa suddenly opened his eyes, throwing his head back and shouting.
From the swirling storm clouds, a massive blue lightning bolt struck down, as if answering his call.
Magic surged through his body, flooding it with overwhelming force before being drained in an instant.
Without hesitation, Hoffa grabbed a vial of magical recovery potion and gulped it down.
The potion transformed into raw magic within him but was immediately consumed by the demands of his transformation.
One vial wasn't enough! Hoffa uncorked another, tilting his head back to drink.
As he continued to consume potions, immense magical energy coursed wildly through him.
Hoffa's body began to change. His muscles expanded under the influence of the magic.
Bones restructured, muscle fibers stretched, and golden patterns raced across his skin, converging finally in his eyes.
With a fierce and contorted expression, he raised his head. His thighs coiled, tendons stretched taut, and his fingers curled like claws. A pale bird-like beak extended from his lips.
Crack!
Snap!
New bones emerged from Hoffa's back.
They extended from his shoulder blades, growing into long skeletal structures several meters in length. But it still wasn't enough. He couldn't fly yet—something was missing.
Amidst the thunder and lightning, Hoffa's mental state reached its peak. Boundless pain and primal instincts churned violently within him, completely beyond his control.
He had turned into a shriveled, featherless creature, its body bare and grotesque.
Something was still missing! He threw his head back and let out a piercing cry. "I've come so far—why can't I succeed?"
Suddenly, a melodious call echoed from the distance.
A large, winged bird swooped down like a streak of lightning, its feathers shimmering.
It was Maya.
The bird soared gracefully, electricity crackling and dancing around its form. It descended rapidly, alighting on Hoffa's shoulder with urgency and excitement.
A colossal bolt of blue lightning crashed from the heavens, striking the Astronomy Tower with deafening force.
Amid the roaring thunder and blinding flashes, Hoffa felt an inexplicable sense of kinship.
The connection came from Maya, perched on his shoulder. Through pure spiritual resonance, it whispered to him: "Remember your purpose."
Purpose.
Finally, Hoffa recalled Dumbledore's words during his first Transfiguration class: Let your inner purpose be your lighthouse. Let compassion and acceptance guide you. Only then can you maintain your true self through the complexities of transformation.
Awakened by this realization, Hoffa stopped forcing his transformation. Instead, he allowed the magic to flow naturally, aligning himself with his surroundings. The turbulent magic resonated with the storm's lightning, and in that moment, he became one with the thunder.
The storm clouds above roiled and churned.
Under the crackling bolts of lightning, Hoffa's skull reshaped itself. His eyes turned sharp and pale yellow. Fine feathers covered his entire body, while grand, majestic plumes sprouted from every corner.
His arms transformed into massive wings, and his legs into razor-sharp talons.
A colossal, gleaming beak replaced his mouth, and his feathers shimmered with a radiant blue glow.
With Maya's clear, melodic call echoing through the storm, Hoffa spread his wings wide atop the tower.
He had become a giant, twin-winged Thunderbird.
In a triumphant cry of exhilaration, Hoffa threw his head back.
And then, the heavens opened, unleashing a torrential downpour.
(End of Chapter)
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