Hoffa leaned against the wall, holding the black-and-white cat in his arms, listening intently to the conversation in the hallway.
Grindelwald: "What time is it now?"
Dumbledore: "What are you talking about?"
Grindelwald replied nonchalantly, "Oh, because depending on the time, he might be a man... or a dragon."
Dumbledore: "What do you mean? What dragon?"
Grindelwald smirked. "Albus, you imported dragons from other countries to Hogwarts, requesting Fathier Drasseth to raise them for you. You even convinced the alchemist Norbert Hagrid to work for you, having him mass-produce dragon eggs to train an elite force of soldiers, unmatched on the wizarding battlefield."
"But do you really think you know him? That alchemical madman? Do you think tossing him a few petty benefits would make him obedient?"
Dumbledore staggered slightly. "Norbert Hagrid... works for you?"
"Tsk, not exactly. Poor Norbert, he only ever wanted to create the ultimate creature by merging all the strengths of dragons. I imagine you've heard something about that, haven't you?"
Dumbledore: "That's impossible."
"You're right, it is impossible. No matter how perfect a body is, without a soul to anchor it, it's nothing but a joke. But now, we have a super body... combined with the suppressed soul and instincts of Hoffa Bach. Can you imagine such a monster, Albus?"
Dumbledore took several steps back, disbelief written across his face.
Grindelwald spread his hands. "What's wrong, Headmaster Dumbledore? Feeling frustrated because you've lost control? Feeling like all your efforts to control everything have been in vain?"
Dumbledore suddenly drew his wand, pressing its rigid tip against Grindelwald's head, forcing his head to tilt slightly.
Grindelwald raised a finger. "Just a friendly reminder: a completely uncontrollable monster is about to emerge. If you and the remaining students stay here, all of you might die at any moment."
Dumbledore's chest heaved violently. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the side and shouted, "Horace! Evacuate all the students! Get them to the train station!"
A pale-faced Slughorn raised his wand and began retreating cautiously.
Once Slughorn was out of sight, Dumbledore demanded sharply, "Where is Bach?"
"Too late."
"Where is Bach?" Dumbledore bellowed. "He's only fourteen! This has nothing to do with the grudge between us!"
"The grudge between us?" Grindelwald sneered. "Don't insult both of us by pretending this is about some petty personal conflict. We're on different sides, Albus. Let's not sugarcoat it."
Dumbledore: "What exactly do you want?"
"Oh, finally thinking about negotiations?" Grindelwald gestured to the wand pressed against his head.
Dumbledore lowered his wand slightly, his voice hoarse as he enunciated each word: "Where. Is. Hoffa. Bach?"
Grindelwald raised his hands. "Okay, I can tell you where he is. But here's the deal. One for one. You let me go, and I'll tell you his location so you can save him. Otherwise..."
Grindelwald extended his hand forward. "You can escort me to Azkaban."
"You—!"
Dumbledore froze, his voice caught in his throat.
Grindelwald grinned mockingly. "What's wrong? Are you really going to let Hitler stand before you and walk free, Albus? If you arrest me, half the wizarding battlefield in Europe will be at peace."
As his taunting words echoed, the hallway fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by heavy breathing.
Grindelwald spoke softly, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or are you contemplating killing me?"
With that, he pulled out the Elder Wand, placed it in Dumbledore's hand, and pressed its tip against his own forehead.
"That's an option too, you know."
The surrounding professors were dumbfounded. Holding their wands, they exchanged hesitant glances, looking to Dumbledore for guidance, completely at a loss.
Dumbledore gripped the Elder Wand tightly, his face growing paler by the second. Gritting his teeth, he hissed through clenched teeth, "You... you devil!"
"A devil? Perhaps. Devils are born of reality," Grindelwald said coldly. "But I don't play god. I don't create those flawless, hollow deities with no weaknesses."
Dumbledore's face twitched with anger, his wand trembling in his hand. Grindelwald remained emotionless.
"Make your choice, Albus," he said icily. "Control me, or save Bach."
At that moment, everyone held their breath—not just the professors behind Dumbledore but also Hoffa, eavesdropping from upstairs. He felt like a tightrope walker, swaying precariously without a safety net, his trust in the school his only anchor.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke, his voice resolute and unyielding: "Take him to Azkaban."
Half the professors gasped in shock.
"Albus!"
"Are you serious?"
"Dumbledore!"
"Silence!" Dumbledore's face was as hard as iron. He stepped back, his expression unrelenting. "Bind this delusional madman and send him to Azkaban for trial."
The professors hesitated momentarily but ultimately obeyed the deputy headmaster's command. With a wave of their wands, countless spells shot out, transforming into red chains that wrapped around Grindelwald, layer upon layer, binding him tightly.
Grindelwald didn't spare a glance at the chains binding him. He murmured mockingly, "A good leader, Albus. Just like you with your sister. After all these years, the real you hasn't changed one bit."
Dumbledore retracted the Elder Wand without hesitation and punched Grindelwald square in the face. The blow split his lip, leaving his cheek swollen.
Unfazed, Grindelwald raised his head, licking the blood off his lip. He glanced into the distance and winked, as if speaking to someone invisible.
Dumbledore instinctively turned, following Grindelwald's gaze, but saw nothing.
Grindelwald's enigmatic smile etched itself into Hoffa's mind.
It felt like a roller coaster plunging to its lowest point, abruptly losing power, unable to ascend again.
Leaning against the wall, Hoffa slowly slid down, exhaling deeply.
At that moment, he finally understood Grindelwald's plan: a blatant severance of ties—with Hogwarts, with Dumbledore.
Hoffa grasped his opponent's strategy but found himself powerless to counter it. Coldness seeped into his heart, a helplessness taking root. All his persistence felt meaningless now—a pain even the Dementors of Azkaban had never inflicted on him.
After sitting silently for a while, Hoffa rose, cradling the black-and-white cat in his arms, and wandered aimlessly through the empty halls of Hogwarts.
Reaching an abandoned classroom on the third floor, he opened the door, walked in, and placed the cat on the desk. Stroking its head gently, he leaned down to kiss it and whispered, "I'm sorry."
The cat meowed, its meaning unclear.
Hoffa exited the classroom, locking the door behind him.
Walking alone through the vacant corridors of Hogwarts, he let his fingers trail along the ancient stone walls, carved over centuries.
He wondered—had anyone else ever wandered these halls as he did now, utterly alone, without anything or anyone to anchor them?
He let go of all pretense, beginning to reflect deeply on himself.
The more he thought, the more he saw the futility of his existence.
Memories of Miranda, Sylvie, Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Fatiel surfaced in his mind.
Everyone had their plans and goals—everyone except him.
For so long, he had lived in others' shadows, passively thwarting foes, aiding others, accepting their ideals, letting the world shape him.
Apart from fleeting, simple thoughts, he had never truly considered what he wanted. His place in the universe was a blank slate.
No parents to guide him. No Sirius-like godfather to inspire him. Not even a Voldemort-like nemesis to fuel vengeance. He bore no regrets from a past life, harbored no material desires.
The initial thrill of magic had faded. The awe of wielding power had diminished.
In childhood, magic seemed cool and wondrous, but that novelty was rooted in unfamiliarity. It couldn't fill the emptiness within.
He had no pursuit, no motivation, no purpose.
As a person, he realized, his essence was a void.
Hogwarts couldn't fill that void.
No one could.
Lost in thought, he pondered endlessly, unable to stop.
He questioned his feelings for Hogwarts—his inexplicable love for it, his unyielding devotion. What was he truly protecting?
In the end, he realized he wasn't protecting Hogwarts itself, but his own illusion of life, his yearning for simplicity.
Reality was filled with desires—a chaotic stew of lust, power, pride, fame, and war.
It was because reality was so brutal that he had constructed a utopia within himself, projecting that ideal onto Hogwarts.
But Hogwarts wasn't a utopia. No place was. Hogwarts was just Hogwarts—reality, with all its cruelty and chaos.
He wandered to the school grounds, where a gentle breeze stirred the snow-covered earth. Frosted breaths escaped his lips as he gazed around.
He remembered battling Sylvie in the skies here last year. Now, he asked himself—would he make the same choices again?
He didn't know.
The only thing he knew was that there was no turning back.
Either he would become part of this reality, or he would choose destruction.
Under a blood-red full moon hanging high in the sky, Hoffa walked to the edge of the cliff by the Black Lake. He stood atop the hundred-meter drop, gazing at the rippling waters below. Slowly, he turned around.
His shadow stretched long under the crimson moonlight. But it was no longer human—it twisted and flowed like venom, writhing with eerie colors.
Suddenly, the shadow broke free, rising from the ground and expanding rapidly. It transformed into a colossal, translucent creature over a hundred meters long.
Standing before the enormous dragon, Hoffa seemed smaller than one of its teeth.
The magnificent beast exhaled a pungent sulfuric breath, its deep voice rumbling. "Did you think you could escape me? With a crude and simple chamber?"
By now, Hoffa felt a strange calm settle over him. Looking up at the dragon's massive head, he spoke evenly, "Do it."
(End of Chapter)
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