Aglaya's placement in Ravenclaw was something Hoffa couldn't understand. In fact, he didn't even know why he was sorted into Ravenclaw, as everyone who had interacted with him assumed he belonged in Gryffindor.
Thankfully, Aglaya's temper, though explosive, was fleeting. By Halloween, she had grudgingly returned to normal and was willing to attend classes and share meals with her two "cowardly" friends, as she called them.
Of course, her obsession with the library hadn't waned. According to Miranda, Aglaya often stayed up late at night reading Hogwarts: A History, poring over its pages well into the early hours.
When Halloween arrived in November, the castle was decorated with pumpkins everywhere—hanging in the corridors and stacked near the entrance. The whole atmosphere was bathed in a dim orange hue.
The pumpkins had candles inside them, and some would even howl eerily as wizards walked by. Naturally, this kind of mild fright only elicited giggles from groups of girls who clung to each other while passing by.
Hoffa always thought girls' shrieks were just a way to get boys to play along with them.
His two friends, however, were exceptions among girls.
Aglaya, though she pretended to be an ordinary girl in front of others, had no interest in attracting boys. Her fascination was reserved for the unknown.
In her words, the known world was boring.
Miranda, on the other hand, often brushed things off with a laugh. Perhaps it was because Hogwarts had no teleportation arrays for her to sabotage this year—nothing seemed to capture her interest for long. She rarely cared about anything for more than a fleeting moment.
As for Halloween, she treated it with the same indifference.
The Incident at the Great Hall
That evening, as Hoffa, Miranda, and Aglaya strolled through the corridors adorned with jack-o'-lanterns and suits of armor, they passed the glittering Hogwarts Orb and entered the Great Hall. There, they saw two groups of students locked in a standoff in the center of the room.
Their expressions were as tense as bandits about to duel in a Wild West town.
On one side stood Gryffindors in red robes, their faces contorted with barely restrained fury. Opposite them were Slytherins in dark green robes, their expressions dripping with mockery. Leading the Slytherins were Tom Riddle and Malfoy.
"You coward! How dare you show your face here while I'm around?"
A burly Gryffindor boy snarled, his Prefect badge gleaming on his chest.
"Prefect? Pfft."
Malfoy sneered.
"You're just throwing accusations because you can't win. That assistant position was earned fair and square! Even Professor Melus didn't object, so why are you making a fuss here?"
"Oh, you've got guts!"
The Gryffindors took a step forward.
"How about a duel?"
Malfoy rested his arm on Tom Riddle's shoulder and smirked.
The Gryffindors hesitated and stepped back.
"What's going on?" Hoffa whispered to Miranda.
"No idea," Miranda replied, shaking her head.
Aglaya, however, let out a cold laugh.
"Hmph, dogs fighting dogs. I heard that Tom Riddle of Slytherin used his position as a teaching assistant to forcibly search the Gryffindor common room. Naturally, the Gryffindors are outraged and are causing trouble now."
Hoffa was stunned. Slytherins conducting a forced search of Gryffindor's common room?
He glanced at the furious red-robed wizards and thought to himself that this was an unprecedented event. Did teaching assistants really have such authority?
The Great Hall Escalation
During the feast, tensions between Gryffindor and Slytherin remained high. As they ate, students began hurling candies at each other.
However, this had little to do with Ravenclaw or Hoffa. While others argued, Hoffa calmly spread meat sauce on his pie, drank pumpkin juice, and enjoyed his pudding.
Everything seemed so peaceful. As Hoffa gazed at the food, he couldn't help but feel grateful to live in this warm harbor, far from the wars raging outside.
After dinner, the blue-robed Ravenclaws gathered together, chatting and laughing as they prepared to return to their common room.
The Confrontation on the Narrow Bridge
As Hoffa and his friends crossed a narrow bridge leading to the Ravenclaw common room, they saw a group of wizards gathered in front of the eagle-shaped knocker.
Upon closer inspection, the group wore green robes. It was the Slytherins, who had left the feast early.
The Slytherin crowd parted, revealing the tall and handsome Tom Riddle. He stepped forward with a smile, bowing slightly to the Ravenclaws.
"After last year's events, every corner of the castle needs to be thoroughly inspected... for Dark Magic."
Riddle's voice was slow and deliberate, his gaze sweeping over Hoffa and his friends before his smile widened.
The Slytherins behind him nodded in agreement.
"I hope you'll cooperate by opening the door to your common room," Riddle continued. "Let's avoid unnecessary trouble, shall we?"
The Ravenclaws froze, then erupted in anger.
"Dark Magic?"
"Have you checked your own common room?"
"Do you really think we'd let Slytherins into our common room?"
Aglaya stepped forward with a scowl.
"Riddle, are you a Prefect? Who gave you the authority to throw your weight around in the Ravenclaw Tower?"
"Cough, cough."
Riddle chuckled softly, tapping the silver assistant badge on his chest.
"My apologies, Miss Drasseth, but rules are rules. As a teaching assistant, I have this authority. And as for who granted it... I believe it was Headmaster Dippet."
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
Hoffa hadn't expected this. Gryffindor had been searched in the afternoon, and now it was Ravenclaw's turn. Tom Riddle was clearly abusing his position to explore Hogwarts unchecked.
"Then go ahead."
Aglaya's face was pale as she sneered through gritted teeth.
"Let's see if you idiots can even answer the eagle knocker's riddle."
"You—"
The Slytherins stirred in anger, and Malfoy, infuriated by Aglaya's words, stepped forward.
But Riddle calmly raised a hand, halting the outburst from his followers.
"I've long heard about the rules of Ravenclaw's common room. Since I have an interest in riddles, I wouldn't mind giving it a try," Tom Riddle said confidently.
"Suit yourself," Aglaea responded coldly before retreating into the crowd.
Tom Riddle strode forward casually. The metal eagle on the door spread its wings, but unlike usual, the knight in the painting didn't kneel.
The eagle knocker posed its riddle:
"White father, black son, a bird with no wings soars to the clouds, perishes with a touch, leaving tears behind."
The difficulty of the question left not only the Slytherins gasping but even the Ravenclaws exchanging uneasy glances. This was far harder than any previous riddle.
All eyes turned to Tom Riddle.
Though his face turned slightly pale, he remained calm, pacing back and forth several times. After about ten seconds of silence, he stopped and smirked.
"Smoke," he said coldly to the eagle knocker.
Thunderous applause erupted from the Slytherins, accompanied by enthusiastic whistles as if they had just won the Quidditch Cup.
Aglaea angrily punched the wall.
The eagle knocker folded its wings, and the blue passage to the Ravenclaw common room spiraled open.
The Slytherins shouted excitedly and tried to rush in, but Tom Riddle stopped them.
"Wait here. I'll call you in when it's time," he commanded in an authoritative tone, his cold gaze exuding an aura that foreshadowed the Dark Lord he would become.
Even Abraxas Malfoy, who draped an arm familiarly over Riddle's shoulder, was stopped by just a glance. Embarrassed, Malfoy retracted his hand and remained outside.
The Slytherins stood still, watching alongside the Ravenclaws as Riddle's figure disappeared into the blue corridor.
Some Ravenclaws muttered angrily:
"Since when does the head of Gryffindor appoint a Slytherin as their assistant?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts? Ridiculous! He used curses during the election, not defensive spells."
Aglaea grumbled indignantly, "And they say he's hunting Dark Wizards. I think he's the Dark Wizard!"
"Even Ravenclaw's head is a Gryffindor now," another Ravenclaw prefect sighed bitterly. "Everything's upside down. If Professor Goshawk were still here, she'd never allow this."
Hoffa's roommate William added nervously, "Who knows what that guy's doing in our common room?"
Just as he finished speaking—
BOOM!
Thick smoke and flames suddenly erupted from the passage.
A deafening explosion echoed from within, as if a bomb had been detonated inside the Ravenclaw common room.
Both Ravenclaws and Slytherins screamed and ducked, covering their heads.
The sudden chaos made Hoffa stumble back a few steps, his instincts kicking in as the crowd panicked.
From inside the corridor came an enraged roar:
"Riddle!"
Bang!
A sharp sound cut through the shouting.
Hoffa's eyes widened. A bad feeling gripped him—he recognized that sound all too well.
Without hesitation, he rushed into the common room.
The sight inside was overwhelming.
The statue of Rowena Ravenclaw lay toppled on the floor. Bookshelves burned fiercely, the flames licking every elegant corner of the blue room. Smoke swirled chaotically, and burning scraps of parchment floated through the air.
The pulsing noise in Hoffa's ears drowned out everything but his own breathing.
Shaking his head to clear his mind, he forced himself into a meditative state. His thoughts sharpened.
A hoarse groan broke the tension.
"Help..."
The sound came from the direction of the girls' dormitory.
Covering his nose, Hoffa climbed the spiral staircase towards the dormitory.
A tall figure suddenly emerged from the smoke, brushing past him and knocking his shoulder before disappearing through a hole blasted into the wall.
Through the haze, Hoffa glimpsed the gaping hole, where the smoke spiraled upward, escaping into the night sky.
"Hoffa..."
The groan brought him back to reality. Turning his head slowly, he saw a bloodied hand reaching out.
Tom Riddle.
The future Dark Lord, the brilliant assistant in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He sat slumped at the base of the spiral staircase, clutching his abdomen and coughing up blood.
The raging flames illuminated their pale faces as Hoffa cautiously approached and knelt to inspect.
Blood gushed from between Tom's fingers, seeping through his clenched hands.
A gaping wound marred his right side, a bullet having torn through his ribcage.
(To Be Continued)
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