After the first Magical Creatures class, the chosen students continued their lessons with Professor Drasses, growing alongside fire dragons in the Scottish Highlands.
Hoffa, however, returned to the school alone. The students who weren't selected were astonished to see him back. In their minds, Hoffa had already crossed the Black Lake—how could he have been rejected?
His return, however, brought some comfort to those who hadn't been chosen.
"If even he didn't get picked, why should we feel bad about it?"
That's what the students said.
Truth be told, not being selected bothered Hoffa to some extent, but only mildly. He had faced far worse situations before. Since rejection was now a fact, he could only accept it. He knew he had to find time elsewhere to study wandless magic.
September came to a stormy close, and October arrived. This period was always the hardest to endure at Hogwarts. The sky remained gray, the sun hidden. The weather hovered in an uncomfortable chill, with endless rain and slugs creeping through the castle's shadows, making the atmosphere oppressive.
As time passed, the workload at school grew heavier. Herbology and Potions remained the two most demanding subjects.
With dozens of students taken away by Fathil, the remaining students faced increased academic pressure. In the Hufflepuff Herbology greenhouse, crowds bustled daily, and Slytherin's underground Potions classroom was perpetually shrouded in smoke.
A Month Later, in Potions Class
"Quiet! Quiet, everyone!" Professor Slughorn's voice echoed across the classroom. "Quickly now, we have a lot to do this afternoon! The Ministry has given us thirty orders, and we haven't even finished a tenth of them!
"Slytherin team, you're responsible for the Anti-Magic Potion.
"Ravenclaw team, you'll handle Dittany.
"Hufflepuff team, you're assigned the Quick-Healing Draught."
"Gryffindor—stop chatting! You're tasked with the Antidote. Finish it before the end of class. Good luck, and don't forget to wear your gloves!"
The students from each house left their benches and moved to the front to gather their materials.
Hoffa was no exception. Since he wasn't chosen to train dragons, he had to take on such tasks—it couldn't be helped. After grabbing his materials, he returned to his seat beside his roommate, William.
"Hey, buddy," William grinned. "Let's make the best potion ever today!"
"Mm."
"Also, guess what? Yuli, the Hufflepuff fourth-year, is interested in you."
Hoffa responded dryly, "Really? That's wonderful."
"Cheer up, Hoffa! She's an S-class beauty—a campus goddess."
"Pass me the lionroot," Hoffa said, unfazed.
William handed him a piece of plant root from the cabinet. "You know, she even asked me about you the other day."
Hoffa, distracted, began cutting the lionroot.
William whispered, "Listen, if we can get into her circle, which is full of beauties—"
"Are we making potions or not?" Hoffa interrupted.
William glanced quickly at Slughorn to make sure he wasn't watching, then lowered his voice. "Relax, he didn't notice."
Hoffa didn't have a wand, which made it impossible to transform potion ingredients or cast spells. So, he worked alongside his roommate, William, to brew potions.
William found this partnership thrilling, often bragging to others about their "inseparable team" and how he was Hoffa's most trusted friend.
Hoffa didn't share this sentiment. Apart from this year, their conversations over the past two years totaled fewer than twenty sentences.
A Busy Potions Class Ends
After class, William was practically bouncing with excitement. "Hoffa, let's go check out the fourth years!"
"Mm."
Hoffa gave a noncommittal response while noticing Professor Slughorn tidying up his books at the front desk. Suddenly, an idea struck him.
Now that Miranda was gone, Hoffa had no teacher to guide him in wandless magic. Slughorn, however, was incredibly knowledgeable—even about obscure topics like Horcruxes. Perhaps he could help with Hoffa's current predicament.
Deliberately lagging behind, Hoffa slowly packed his bag.
William, impatient as ever, received a casual excuse and left first. After bidding farewell to the other students, the Potions classroom was left with just Hoffa and Slughorn.
"Come on, Hoffa, it's nearly dinnertime," Slughorn said warmly as he fastened the gold clasp on his dragon-hide briefcase.
"Sir, I'd like to ask you something," Hoffa said.
"Then be quick, my dear boy—ask away."
"Do you know anything about wandless magic?"
"Wandless magic?" Slughorn scratched his ear. "Well, now, you've stumped me. Why not just buy a new wand?"
"I went to Ollivander's, but there isn't another wand suitable for me."
"Ah, I see." Slughorn pondered for a moment. "To be honest, I don't know much about wandless magic—it's an ancient and highly advanced skill. But I'd suggest asking your Transfiguration professor, Jacob Bohan."
"Professor Bohan? Does he know it?"
"Have you ever seen him use a wand? Since he started teaching here, I haven't. I'd wager he has considerable expertise in that area."
Thinking back, Hoffa realized it was true. In all his Transfiguration classes, Professor Bohan had never used a wand. Even the time he snipped Hoffa's hair, he'd done so with just two fingers.
This reminded Hoffa. After thanking Slughorn, he hurried to the Transfiguration office. Whether or not Jacob Bohan could perform wandless magic, he had to give it a try.
The Transfiguration office was on the third floor. This office used to belong to Dumbledore during Hoffa's first year. Standing at the door, Hoffa was suddenly reminded of the summer, when he stood outside the headmaster's office after punching his boss.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
After waiting for a while, there was no answer.
Not in the office. Could he have gone to eat?Hoffa glanced at the stone-framed window. The evening light outside was dimming. It wouldn't be unusual for someone to be eating at this time, but professors typically ate in their offices unless there was a feast. If he were eating, he should still be here.
With this in mind, Hoffa decided to knock again.
Just as he raised his hand, the door swung open on its own, revealing the office bathed in the warm hues of sunset.
He cautiously stepped inside.
The golden sunset filled the room, which was furnished with antique cabinets and furniture. On the desk, several quills were signing documents on their own. The signed papers floated neatly to the edge of the desk, forming a tidy pile.
A faint creak interrupted the silence.
Hoffa turned to see a cabinet next to him opening by itself. His heart skipped a beat—what was happening?
But nothing alarming emerged. Instead, a neatly folded towel floated out of the cabinet and hovered in front of Hoffa, as if offering itself to him.
Hoffa extended his hands, and the towel gently landed in his palms. Moments later, several neatly folded pieces of clothing floated out of the cabinet and stacked themselves atop the towel.
What is this... Hoffa scanned the room.
Quills were writing, stamps were sealing, clothes were folding themselves, and brooms were sweeping the floor. Everything in the room was operating seamlessly and automatically, in perfect harmony.
Hoffa was momentarily entranced by the sight.
This... this is art.
The folded sleeve of the clothing floated up and pointed in a specific direction. Following the gesture, Hoffa noticed a tall cabinet filled with delicate porcelain.
Is it asking me to go there?
He approached the ornate cabinet, which rotated smoothly like a kaleidoscope and split open, revealing a dim passageway behind it.
A wave of heat and humidity hit him. The sleeve gestured for him to proceed.
Driven by curiosity, Hoffa followed the sleeve's directions into the passageway and eventually pushed open the door at the end.
The sound of running water greeted him, along with a rush of warm steam. Hoffa's jaw nearly hit the floor.
It was a massive, luxurious bathroom. A grand chandelier adorned with candles cast a soft glow over the space. The floor was made of pristine white marble. Around the edge of the bath were about a hundred golden faucets, and the walls displayed vibrant, abstract artwork.
Amidst the rising steam was a middle-aged man—his Transfiguration professor, Jacob Bohan. He was lounging comfortably in a large bath, lazily leaning against a stone lionhead fountain, most of his body exposed.
Hoffa finally understood why he had been handed the towel and clothes. His professor was taking a bath!
Though he was also a man, barging into another man's bathroom—especially his teacher's—left Hoffa feeling utterly mortified. It was as if a herd of wild horses had stampeded across his mind.
Jacob Bohan, on the other hand, appeared completely unbothered. Raising his arm, he greeted Hoffa as casually as if meeting a student in the marketplace.
"Oh, Hoffa!"
Hoffa instinctively turned to leave. "Professor, I'm so sorry—I didn't know—"
"Well, if you knew, you wouldn't have come," Bohan chuckled. "I forgot my towel and clothes. Without you, I'd be stuck in this bath. I can't exactly walk back to my room dripping wet—imagine running into a colleague like that. How awkward would that be?"
What kind of excuse is that?
Hoffa stood stiffly, his muscles tensed. The whole situation felt absurd.
Seeing the horrified expression on the boy's face, Bohan waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, I'm joking. What brings you here?"
"N-Nothing," Hoffa stammered, quickly setting the towel down on a nearby stone platform. "I'll just come back later."
But as he turned to leave, the wooden door behind him slammed shut with a resounding thud. The sound made every hair on Hoffa's body stand on end.
"A wizard never runs," he said as he stood up from the water with a splash. Walking to a nearby cabinet, he opened it and retrieved several glass cups, proceeding to pour drinks.
Despite being middle-aged, his every muscle was well-defined, resembling a classical Greek sculpture.
The sight made Hoffa's eyes sting uncomfortably, and his heart raced. He glanced at his magical power watch. Damn it. With everything going on, I've only stored 0.3X of magical power.
Jacob Bohan poured a drink, casually conjured a couple of ice cubes with a flick of his hand, and dropped them into the glass.
"So, what brings you here? Stuck on your homework?"
It took Hoffa a moment to remember his purpose. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I want to learn wandless magic. Professor Slughorn suggested I come to you."
"Hmm, wandless magic. You aim high," Bohan replied.
He walked over to Hoffa, placed a glass of drink on the stone platform beside him, then retreated to sit by the edge of the bath. "What's your opinion on wandless magic?"
The peculiar atmosphere made Hoffa uneasy, and there was no chance he'd touch the drink. He answered awkwardly, "I don't have much of an opinion. I just know it's a skill that requires dedication and practice."
"Not wrong," Bohan said, taking a sip from his glass. "Now that you're here, let me ask—why didn't Professor Drases accept you?"
"Uh..." Hoffa hadn't expected this topic. After a moment of thought, he said, "Because I couldn't meet his standards."
"I see," Bohan chuckled. "Don't be too discouraged. Almost no one meets his standards. I couldn't either."
"What?" Hoffa was stunned. "You?"
"He was my teacher once," Bohan said with a teasing smile. "Don't be fooled by his youthful appearance. He's over fifty."
Hoffa felt overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information. "Why does he look so young? Is it because he's half-elf?"
"Even full-blooded elves don't age like that. His lack of aging likely has another cause," Bohan said, pausing briefly before continuing. "You've come to the right person. I know a bit about wandless magic. But if you want me to give you special lessons, you'll need to prove yourself."
Hoffa's skin crawled at those words. Looking up, he sighed in relief when a mist floated past Bohan's waist, obscuring anything he didn't want to see.
"Prove myself? How?" he asked cautiously.
"I prefer the teaching methods of ancient Greece," Bohan said. "Do you know what they were like?"
"No," Hoffa admitted, feeling increasingly out of sync with Bohan's rapid topic changes.
"Choice," Bohan explained. "The ancient Greek teachers valued choice deeply.
"They wouldn't recklessly impart their knowledge to just anyone. They understood that some people could embrace their ideas, while others couldn't."
He raised his glass and drank it in one go before continuing. "Socrates chose Plato. Plato chose Aristotle.
"They always managed to find students who surpassed them, ensuring their philosophies were passed down."
Hoffa licked his lips, beginning to understand what Bohan was getting at.
Bohan's expression turned serious. "If you want to learn wandless magic, I can make you my true student and teach you the techniques. But you need to prove that you're worthy of being my disciple."
Hoffa felt slightly reassured. "How do I prove myself?"
"Oh, it's simple."
Bohan stepped out of the water, standing beside Hoffa as he picked up the towel and began drying the water from his arms.
"I recall that fairness is a crucial principle in Ravenclaw's creed. On Halloween, some students will return from dragon-taming missions. I anticipate there will be underlying tensions and conflicts among the students.
"When that happens, you must stop the conflict by any means necessary. Ensure fairness and justice prevail, and I'll teach you the essence of wandless magic."
(End of chapter)
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