"Who are you?"
Inside the dimly lit Room of Requirement, the flickering candlelight illuminated the towering piles of ancient junk, slowly rotating like the gears of a giant machine.
Hoffa sat at one end of the long table, his body tense as he stared at his teacher.
"Just call me Professor, Hoffa. You are my first student."
Jacob slowly rose from his seat, his posture once again upright. In an instant, he transformed into someone entirely different—a dignified and refined middle-aged man. He wore a robe of purple-gray hues, a black scarf tied neatly around his neck, and his hair impeccably combed.
"People like us spend our entire lives ensuring that our ideals are passed down. The fact that you've mastered my magic shows you have the ability to change the world. I won't stand by and let this school destroy you."
Hoffa stared at him, at a loss for words. Grindelwald. Gellert Grindelwald. The first Dark Lord. He was his Transfiguration professor.
There were rumors. That he orchestrated the Armenian genocide. That he planned the 1926 terror attack in New York. That he was the true mastermind behind the Holocaust of Jewish wizards. And that this summer, he was the one who plotted the bombings in London.
Having lived in this world for three years, Hoffa was no stranger to the man's horrifying reputation.
Yet, sitting face-to-face with him, Hoffa couldn't reconcile this man with the image of a monstrous tyrant.
There was none of Sylby's savage energy about him. His mental presence was calm, precise, and sharp, more akin to that of a shrewd businessman—or perhaps a scholar who had spent decades in quiet study.
"What about Jacob Pohan?" Hoffa rasped.
"Jacob Pohan?"
The white-haired Gellert replied indifferently, "I killed him. In fact, the smuggling operation with Gringotts was Jacob Pohan's doing. During the year I took his place, I must admit, Britain's medical sector saw a fairer and more just development."
"This is your plan, then?"
"What plan? Tell me."
"You want to destroy Hogwarts and take control of the British wizarding world."
"Destroy Hogwarts? Control Britain?" Grindelwald chuckled. "And then what? Go back to exchanging empty praise with those racist German lunatics?"
He shook his head. "No, no. Every corner of the world is part of the Earth. Destroying this place does nothing for me."
"Then why are you turning students into animals?"
"Did I turn students into animals?"
Grindelwald spread his hands. "I made it clear in the first lesson—I specialize in magical transfiguration, using magic to reshape the environment. I'm not skilled at human transfiguration."
"If not you, then who?"
"Let's set that aside for now."
Grindelwald leaned back comfortably in his chair, propping his feet up on the table. "My reasons for coming to Hogwarts are simple. One, to meet my old teacher. Two, to save a student trapped in a cage."
"I'm not trapped in a cage," Hoffa denied immediately.
"Really? Then why the endless nightmares? Why do you see things others can't? Why do you feel isolated in crowds? Why do your thoughts always differ from everyone else's?"
"I…"
Hoffa remained silent, but the fear and unfamiliarity began to dissipate. This refined man seemed to mirror his own state, merely engaging in conversation.
After a moment, Grindelwald lowered his gaze and looked at Hoffa intently in the dim light. "To gain new experiences, expand the boundaries of understanding, and pursue spiritual freedom—these are what you seek, aren't they?"
Hoffa exhaled deeply. Though he didn't want to admit it, a profound sense of identification nearly overwhelmed him at that moment. He almost wanted to stand up and embrace this man.
This was a feeling Dumbledore had never given him. Dumbledore had never asked him what he truly wanted.
Just then, the black-and-white cat that Miranda had transformed into climbed beside Hoffa, reaching out a paw to touch his hand. But he recoiled as though shocked.
Looking into the cat's amber eyes, he thought of Miranda in their first year, and a wave of nausea churned in his stomach like swallowing a bucket of ice.
Guilt, regret, and self-reproach flooded his mind. Why was he feeling a sense of connection with this man?
Pale-faced, he looked up. "So, you've controlled all the students this year?"
"Why do you always instinctively blame me?"
Grindelwald sighed. "Does doing that let you wash your hands of responsibility and maintain a facade of righteousness and virtue? Aren't you tired of wearing that mask?"
"Then why…?"
"Who turned Hogwarts students into what they are now? Don't you know in your heart? Who stripped away their pressures? Who stripped away their reality, giving them false senses of safety and hope?
Who granted their foolish wishes, making them too lazy to face real problems? Who pretended to be omnipotent, exuding an aura of justice and strength, causing others to depend on them? Was it me?"
Hoffa was struck as if by lightning, collapsing heavily into his chair.
For a long while, he murmured, "It's me?"
Grindelwald replied, "Not entirely you. The you sitting here is just an idol fabricated by Dumbledore and Hogwarts—a false halo. The real you has long been lost beneath it."
"The real me... the real me..." A foreboding sense of dread crept into his heart. His breathing grew rapid, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil within.
Grindelwald continued, "Tell me, Hoffa, what is the real you like?"
Hoffa's teeth began to chatter as he tried to push his chair back and stand, but he couldn't.
"You know better than anyone, Hoffa Bach. Ravenclaw—the smartest house, yet also the most self-centered. You may hide it well, but make no mistake: the real you is already tired of all this."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hoffa said, his voice trembling. Deep within, the most hidden thoughts he had buried were being laid bare by the man before him.
Grindelwald smiled faintly as he looked at Hoffa.
"Dumbledore gave you hope and made you brave and kind. But, if you ask me, kindness is merely your tool for pursuing the heights of life.
You're a Ravenclaw—a radical, arrogant, and self-absorbed Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw who seeks spiritual freedom above all else. You have never acknowledged your own darkness—your stubbornness, arrogance, violence, and cruelty. But just because you deny it doesn't mean it isn't there.
You fear becoming like your classmates because they represent mediocrity in your eyes. What you truly despise isn't them; it's the ordinary version of yourself, the mundane and unremarkable you."
Grindelwald's words were like knives, cutting through every facade Hoffa had built and exposing his true self to the cold, unyielding air, leaving him defenseless.
Standing up, Grindelwald drew the Elder Wand and swung it decisively. The towering piles of junk surrounding them shifted and reassembled, forming gleaming mirrors across the chaotic room. Within those mirrors, countless scenes flashed by.
There he was during the summer, violently beating his supervisor in the hospital.
There he was in the underground Aglaia base, having a heated argument.
There he was in Azkaban, smashing two prisoners' heads against the walls with brutal force.
In each image, Hoffa's shadow writhed like a dragon coiled across the ground.
He saw himself on Christmas Eve, his shadow trailing Sherlock through the Forbidden Forest and turning an entire dragon-taming team into animals.
He saw his shadow following William into the prefects' bathroom that same night, transforming him into an animal as well.
And then there was that night, lost in despair, when his shadow became a monstrous darkness, engulfing the entire castle and wreaking havoc within it.
As he absorbed these images, the table in front of him crumbled into dust under the weight of his mental turmoil.
He collapsed back into his chair, staring at his hands, unable to utter a sound. Beneath his feet, his kaleidoscopic shadow twisted and stretched, its tail connecting to the form of a dragon-like creature emerging from an egg.
Grindelwald spoke coolly, "You cannot save this school. You can't save anyone. Everything you've done only hastens its destruction. The weak hide behind you, growing softer and more dependent under your protection. They believe you are their voice, their defender, allowing them to lounge in the common rooms as sheep awaiting slaughter."
He removed a dragon egg from his chest and placed it on the ground. Walking slowly to Hoffa's side, he leaned down.
"I have no interest in killing. It's dull. My passion lies in helping people uncover their true selves. To me, that truth is the most valuable thing in this world."
As he spoke, Hoffa's dark shadow shimmered, becoming vibrant and colorful. It stretched and extended, gradually merging with the dragon egg.
A crack appeared on the egg, then another, until a creature began to emerge. It was dazzling yet grotesque, beautiful yet twisted.
In the moment the dragon egg shattered, Hoffa felt himself being torn apart. His nightmares, which had clung to him for so long, were extracted and laid bare.
"Face your true self," Grindelwald said.
With that, he patted Hoffa on the shoulder, brushed past him, and left without a backward glance.
Hoffa had no energy to care about Grindelwald anymore. He sat in his chair, staring at the shadow stretching across the floor. At the end of the shadow was the grotesque creature born from the dragon egg. Man and dragon now shared the same shadow.
The monstrous, indescribable being staggered to its feet, moving like a newborn learning to walk.
Then, in an instant, it began to grow—rapidly. In the blink of an eye, it had become an infant. Crawling on the ground, its body covered in mucus, it displayed an intense fear of the new world it had entered.
But soon, as countless colorful faces flowed like ripples through Hoffa's shadow and into the creature, its emotions stabilized.
The infant began to rise, its bones cracking as it grew taller and stronger. Finally, it stood as a gray-haired, golden-eyed teenager—identical to Hoffa in every way, down to the earring on his ear.
It glanced at Hoffa and began to crawl toward him, moving like a reptile. As it approached, it straightened up, standing upright.
At last, the mirror image of Hoffa stood before him, tilting its head slightly.
"Hello, trash. How are you?"
(End of Chapter)
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