Amidst the thick smoke, Hoffa had no idea what to say. Blood from his back smeared across the wall, leaving an exaggerated pattern. Tom Riddle leaned against the wall, clutching his left side, struggling to breathe. His lips were completely devoid of color.
Beside him was a gaping hole—almost the entire wall of the girls' dormitory staircase had been blown to bits, with gray bricks crumbling and falling.
The cold wind from Ravenclaw Tower swept through, jolting Hoffa back to his senses. He quickly moved to the breach and stood at the edge of the nearly 300-meter-high tower. Peering out, he only managed to glimpse a red dot flickering briefly on the ground before disappearing into the darkness.
A chill ran down Hoffa's spine.
Soon, a large crowd burst into the Ravenclaw common room.
Seeing the blood-covered Tom Riddle collapsed against the wall and the massive hole, the crowd erupted into frantic screams.
Aglaea and Miranda pushed through the smoke to reach Hoffa. Both of their faces were pale with shock.
Miranda asked, "What happened?"
Hoffa didn't respond. He walked over to Tom Riddle, pressed a hand against his chest to stem the bleeding, and hoisted him up with his other arm, swiftly heading toward the exit.
The screaming persisted.
Suddenly, a powerful voice roared from outside the crowd.
"Silence!"
Under the oppressive mental force, all voices ceased. In a blue robe, Dumbledore appeared at the edge of the crowd, his face livid as he briskly parted the students.
When he saw the blood-soaked Tom Riddle leaning against Hoffa's shoulder, his expression changed instantly.
Dumbledore hurried over, bent down, and supported Riddle's twitching shoulder, his face grim as he glanced at Hoffa.
"Vulnera Sanentur. Episkey."
He muttered various healing spells, holding his wand.
Looking at the hole in the wall, he asked Hoffa, "What happened?"
Hoffa replied, "A gunshot, sir."
Dumbledore's eyes widened. He bent down to inspect Riddle further, his face briefly turning uncharacteristically pale. Scooping up the injured boy, he declared loudly, "All students, follow your prefects to the Great Hall immediately."
With that, he strode out of the common room, carrying the wounded Tom Riddle.
The news of Tom Riddle being shot in Ravenclaw Tower spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, shaking the entire school like a bomb dropped into stagnant waters. The aftermath rippled with shockwaves.
Within an hour, all students had gathered in the Great Hall, their faces filled with fear as they discussed the horrific event in hushed voices.
The common rooms, once considered the safest havens in Hogwarts, had been violated. Someone had broken in, blasted open walls, and nearly killed a student. It was a humiliating blow, not just to Hogwarts but especially to Ravenclaw.
Hoffa, being the first witness to the shooting, became the center of attention. However, no matter how crowded or noisy it got around him, he remained seated at a table in utter silence.
Finally, when Aglaea approached him with a panicked expression and whispered something in his ear, Hoffa slowly raised his head.
Aglaea said, "Hoffa, I have to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"My bracelet is missing."
"What bracelet?"
"The one I wore at the start of the term—the one my mother gave me for my 12th birthday."
At the mention of the bracelet, Hoffa's memory flashed back to King's Cross Station two months ago. That ornate yet ancient bracelet—it was unforgettable.
Miranda grabbed Hoffa's hand and pulled him into a corner of the Great Hall. Aglaea impatiently waved away anyone trying to approach.
"Hoffa, we need to talk," Miranda said with a worried expression. "You know something, don't you?"
Hoffa hesitated briefly before nodding. "Yes."
"Does it have anything to do with what the new Transfiguration professor asked you about?"
Hoffa's jaw tightened, and his fists clenched. "Give me a moment, Miranda. Take Aglaea back to the hall. I'll join you later."
"Where are you going?"
"To find our headmaster."
Pushing past his friends, Hoffa disappeared into thin air.
In the empty school corridors, Hoffa moved quickly.
Scenes from the summer in Barcelona flashed through his mind, fueling his pace. His teeth clenched in anger.
The library.
Three keys.
The Half-King.
Damn it.
He cursed under his breath. It wouldn't let him go.
Finally, he stopped abruptly, standing before the entrance to the school infirmary.
Here, several nurses moved back and forth while the heads of all four houses stood at the entrance to the hall.
Slytherin's Head of House, Horace Slughorn, was furiously yelling at the other three Heads of House by the doorway:
"His right lung was punctured! In Hogwarts, of all places! This is slander, a humiliation! Are the people in the Defense Against the Dark Arts department completely useless?"
The Gryffindor Head of House, Melis, and Dumbledore remained silent, while Hufflepuff's Head of House, Herbraw Riley, murmured words of consolation.
Slughorn continued his tirade, his voice roaring like an enraged walrus:
"Where is Headmaster Dippet? Such a major incident has occurred, and he doesn't even show his face?"
Dumbledore calmly interrupted him, saying, "Compose yourself, Horace. You're well aware of Headmaster Dippet's current condition."
Slughorn gritted his teeth, closing his mouth, though his large belly quivered visibly with suppressed anger.
Hoffa stood in the shadowed corner of the hall, his face expressionless as he quietly waited.
After about half an hour, the doors to the hospital wing opened. Tom Riddle, lying on a hospital bed, was pushed into the care room by a nurse.
The school nurse, Leiner, stopped Slughorn. Removing his mask, he spoke wearily:
"He's out of danger now. The injury was a severe perforation and laceration, along with blood reflux—a purely Muggle technique, but terrifying nonetheless. Fortunately, we were at school. Two minutes later, and the boy wouldn't have made it."
Slughorn groaned and nearly fainted. "Merlin's beard!"
Leiner continued, "You should all leave now. No visits will be allowed today."
The Heads of House dispersed, each heading in a different direction.
As Dumbledore's figure appeared around the corner, Hoffa immediately approached him.
"Professor," Hoffa called.
Dumbledore stopped, momentarily startled but not overly surprised. He simply rubbed his forehead in exhaustion.
"It's you, Bach. Why aren't you with your friends?"
"We need to talk, Professor Dumbledore," Hoffa said.
"What about?"
"This incident—it's related to the Half-King," Hoffa said bluntly. "Do you know who he is?"
Dumbledore shook his head with a sigh. "Hoffa, to be honest, I don't. All I know is that the Daily Prophet has been hunting him for three months without success."
"Is it connected to Grindelwald?" Hoffa asked, his eyes unblinking.
"No."
Dumbledore's voice was barely audible. "Grindelwald wouldn't use Muggle weapons to injure a student. His pride wouldn't allow it."
Hoffa was silent for a moment.
Dumbledore added, "Bach, you should go back and be with your friends."
"The library," Hoffa suddenly interrupted.
"What library?"
"The Restricted Section. Is it connected to this incident?"
Dumbledore's weary gaze turned sharp. "Did Miss Romanoff tell you that?"
Hoffa neither confirmed nor denied it.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Hoffa, this school holds too many secrets—ancient secrets. No one can uncover them all, not even me. I can hardly answer any of your questions."
He lowered his head, his pale blue eyes studying Hoffa through his glasses for a moment before sighing.
"Riddle's incident in Ravenclaw Tower leaves me with little time and few choices. As Acting Deputy Headmaster and Head of Ravenclaw, I have more pressing matters to address."
Dumbledore patted Hoffa on the shoulder. After taking two steps, he paused, hesitating briefly before turning back.
"But if you truly wish to learn about the Restricted Section, I suggest speaking with your new Transfiguration professor. She is a descendant of the keykeeper from Tsarist Russia. In this matter, she is more knowledgeable than I am."
With that, Dumbledore disappeared around the corner.
Hoffa remained where he was, the shadows of the walls casting over his face, making his expression unreadable. He stood there silently for about ten minutes.
Finally, he sighed and muttered, "Damn it."
(End of Chapter)
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