Chapter 306: Puppet

A torrential downpour crashed down from the sky like a flood.

At King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾ bustled with activity.

An old man pushed a trolley forward at a slow, deliberate pace. He had one eye and one leg, his hair was gray and thinning, and he leaned heavily on a walking stick. Despite his sluggish movement, the platform around him was filled with wizards, young and old, all rushing to board the Hogwarts Express.

On the trolley he pushed sat a cage containing a blue-and-white owl with striking golden eyes.

The owl stood perfectly still in its cage, a stark contrast to the cacophony created by the other pets around it.

"Blasted leg… this damn eye!" the old man muttered under his breath, his frustration evident as he hobbled along. "How on earth did that old codger move so fast with these?"

Inside the cage, the owl shot him a cold, disdainful glance, which made the old man instantly clam up, his demeanor shifting to one of feigned calmness.

There was no doubt about it—the owl was Hoffa. Even though Voldemort had ordered him to impersonate Alastor Moody, Hoffa had gone a step further and administered the Polyjuice Potion to young Barty Crouch instead.

Hoffa wasn't foolish. If nothing could change, then he might as well let things proceed as they were meant to. His plan was simple: have Barty deliver Harry Potter back as planned, then alter the young man's memory afterward. That way, even Dumbledore wouldn't detect his involvement.

However, Hoffa also couldn't trust the unstable and fanatical Barty Crouch Jr. to act responsibly. As a precaution, he transformed himself into an owl and stayed close to Barty, ready to intervene should anything go awry.

Fortunately, since Hoffa defeated Moody, Barty had been doing everything possible to curry favor with him. The man acted like a devoted servant, catering to Hoffa's every need. Barty followed orders without question, his eagerness to please verging on servility.

"Professor Moody!"

Suddenly, a voice called out from nearby, breaking through the patter of rain. Hoffa, perched in his cage, and "Moody" (Barty) both turned to look.

The speaker was a tall, handsome boy clad in robes striped with black and yellow. His striking appearance reminded Hoffa of a younger Tom Riddle during his days at Hogwarts, though the boy's smile carried an uncanny resemblance to Ryan, a certain vampire Hoffa had encountered years ago.

Beside the boy stood an elegant girl with an Asian complexion. She held a black umbrella to shield herself from the rain, her dark hair sleek and her robes a deep shade of navy. Her lightly accented makeup gave her a poised, sophisticated look. Unsurprisingly, she drew the attention of many nearby boys, their admiring glances filled with longing.

Hoffa stared at the girl for a moment before recognizing her: Cho Chang.

She was far more captivating than the actress who played her in the films. Hoffa had always wondered how an Asian girl who failed to captivate even her own peers could enchant two of Hogwarts' top champions. Now, seeing her in person, he realized the disconnect likely stemmed from Western filmmakers not fully understanding Asian aesthetics.

Cho seemed to sense Hoffa's gaze. She tilted her head slightly, looking at the owl curiously while keeping her umbrella steady.

"Women's intuition…" Hoffa muttered to himself, shaking his feathers as he redirected his attention to the boy approaching them.

"Are you this year's professor, Alastor Moody?"

The boy, Cedric Diggory, gave a slight bow before extending his hand in greeting.

"That's me," Barty replied confidently.

"Ah, my name is Cedric Diggory."

The boy stood tall, his prefect badge gleaming on his chest as he introduced himself. "My father has spoken highly of you on numerous occasions. He says you're the greatest Auror of the century—bar none."

"Well, that's quite the praise," Barty replied sharply, ignoring the outstretched hand.

Inside the cage, Hoffa stretched his wings, flapping them briefly.

Immediately, Barty's demeanor shifted. A warm smile appeared on his face as he shook Cedric's hand. "Ah, it's been a while since I've seen Amos. I hear he's working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures now. How's he doing?"

"Oh, my father's doing well," Cedric said cheerfully, scratching his head in a good-natured manner. His eyes drifted to the owl in the cage.

"Is that your owl, Professor? It's beautiful."

Inside the cage, Hoffa turned his head ninety degrees, his golden eyes narrowing as he studied Cedric. What's this kid up to? Why's he suddenly trying to cozy up to me?

Barty, clearly uneasy, stepped between Cedric and the cage. He maintained a composed, professorial tone. "So, is there a reason you're waiting here for me specifically?"

"Ah, yes."

Cedric shifted his focus, pulling a document from his robes and handing it to Barty.

"My father asked me to pass this along. He wanted you to know that your, uh, little issues have been resolved, so there's no need to worry. He also mentioned that Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Magic Office lent a hand. My father thought you might want to write him a thank-you note if you get the chance."

Cedric's words were impeccably polite, leaving no room for criticism.

Inside the cage, Hoffa smirked inwardly. So that's what this is about. In the original timeline, Amos Diggory and Arthur Weasley had indeed smoothed things over after Moody's scuffle with Barty. From Harry's perspective, this incident was a minor background detail, but seen from Hoffa's vantage point, it held a deeper significance.

Hoffa's eyes shifted to Cho Chang, who still stood under her umbrella, ignoring the boys vying for her attention as she waited for Cedric. Hoffa mused silently: Women are the gatekeepers of life, the arbiters of reproduction, representing natural selection. Men, in contrast, are merely tested against their standards.

Cedric certainly carried himself with an air of charm and maturity, speaking with precision and grace. Despite his youth, he managed to deflect credit for solving Moody's problem onto Arthur Weasley while subtly reminding the professor of his father's role in the matter.

If Hoffa were a woman, he'd likely choose Cedric over Harry as well.

If the real Alastor Moody were here, he'd undoubtedly develop a newfound respect for Cedric and, feeling indebted to Amos, would likely show Cedric special favor in class.

Too bad the real Moody was currently locked in the trunk at Hoffa's feet.

Barty glanced at the document Cedric had handed him, feigning a serious expression. "I understand. Please thank your father for me. I'll be more careful moving forward."

"Oh, wonderful!"

Cedric's radiant smile seemed to brighten even the stormy skies above.

"Well then, I won't keep you any longer. Goodbye, Professor."

"Goodbye."

Cedric waved before walking back to Cho. Taking her umbrella from her, he held it over their heads as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder toward the train carriages.

"Diggory..."

Little Barty stuffed the documents haphazardly into his chest, sneering as he pushed the trolley. "Hmph, that redneck old bastard managed to have a son like this? His wife must've been fooling around with someone else."

Hoffa: "..."

Little Barty led Hoffa onto the train, finding an empty compartment at the rear with no one around before slipping inside.

The first thing he did was lock the door securely. Then, with a respectful demeanor, he removed the birdcage, placed it on the small table, and opened it carefully.

The train rattled along the tracks with a rhythmic clatter. Hoffa shook out his feathers as he stepped out of the birdcage, his golden eyes gazing at the Scottish Highlands outside the window. A peculiar feeling stirred in his chest.

The train was still the same; Scotland was still Scotland. Nothing had changed in the fifty years since he last saw it. But his state of mind was no longer the same. The excitement of seeing it for the first time was gone, as was the urgency of escape. Now, only a distinct nostalgia lingered.

"Are you thirsty, Mr. Bach?"

Little Barty, now transformed into Moody, asked the owl in a tone laced with Wormtail's servility.

"Potion," the owl said coldly, its voice unexpectedly human.

"Understood."

Little Barty hurriedly pulled out a glass vial filled with a blue liquid from beneath the table, unscrewing the lid with reverence before placing it on the table.

Hoffa hopped forward on his thin bird legs and dipped his sharp beak into the vial, taking a sip of the blue liquid.

"Bone fragment."

"Right away."

From his chest, Little Barty retrieved a shard of bone, placing it before the owl.

"Magnifying glass," Hoffa demanded.

Without hesitation, Little Barty produced a round magnifying glass from his chest and positioned it before the owl's face.

Through the magnifying glass, Hoffa examined the black bone shard intently, his golden eyes unblinking.

This was one of the spoils he had taken from Alastor Moody.

The cold aura emanating from the bone fragment fascinated him deeply. If he wanted to resurrect Aglaia, he would need to locate her soul. And to find her soul, Hoffa would have to venture into the Death Realm—Helheim.

Fifty years had passed since then. The old gamekeeper, Joey, who once guarded that place, was likely long gone. Hoffa could no longer recall exactly how Joey had opened the gateway to the Death Realm back then. But he suspected that the chilling aura on this black bone fragment might hold a clue.

Hoffa studied the bone fragment for over an hour. Meanwhile, Little Barty's arms began to ache, and he couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Bach, you've been staring at this bone for ages. Is it really that fascinating?"

"What do you know?" Hoffa, in his owl form, didn't even look up.

"Mr. Bach, you must have graduated from Hogwarts recently, right?" Little Barty probed.

Hoffa's focus remained fixed on the bone fragment, paying no attention to Little Barty's questions.

"It's terrifying, isn't it? A student like you from Hogwarts... You must have been the center of attention," Little Barty added.

"Huh?"

"Mr. Bach, there's one thing I just can't figure out," Little Barty pressed.

"What is it?" Hoffa asked irritably, sparing a fraction of his attention.

"Someone like you—why isn't your name known? I've never heard of you," Little Barty frowned.

"How is that any of your business?" Hoffa snapped before resuming his study of the bone fragment.

"How did you survive being stabbed through the heart?" Little Barty suddenly asked.

"I can't answer that."

"If I were stabbed through the heart, could I survive too?"

"Probably not."

Hoffa's owl head turned ninety degrees, his attention finally shifting from the bone fragment to Little Barty. For the first time, he noticed a peculiar kind of "desire" emanating from him.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Hoffa asked.

"Have you ever thought about doing something... monumental?" Little Barty rubbed his hands together, his wrinkled Moody-like face looking ingratiating. "Like, say, ruling the magical world in Europe? Or becoming the strongest wizard in the world?"

"Which house did you graduate from?" Hoffa asked back.

"Hufflepuff."

"What?"

Hoffa was momentarily stunned. He had always assumed Little Barty must have been in Slytherin—or perhaps, like his father, Barty Crouch Sr., a Ravenclaw. He never expected him to be a Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuffs he had known were nothing like this.

Little Barty looked at him eagerly. "Mr. Bach, I really want to know—have you ever considered doing something earth-shattering?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because the whole world would fear and acknowledge you! Isn't that incredible?" Little Barty spoke quickly, as though he'd been holding this in for a long time. "If you did, I would help you! I'd do anything for you!"

"And if I became such a person, what would it matter to you?" Hoffa looked at Little Barty seriously. "Also, why are you following Voldemort? Have you ever thought about what you truly want?"

"What I want?"

Little Barty seemed confused. He hesitated for a moment before stammering, "I... I want to bring my master back to life."

"Besides your master, don't you have any desires of your own?"

"My... my wish. My wish is to resurrect my master," Little Barty murmured blankly.

"I'm asking about your wish. As a person, don't you think you should have your own unique desires? Why do you live solely for others?" The owl's expression carried a hint of disdain as it spoke.

Little Barty still looked confused. After pondering for a long time, he shook his head. "I don't quite understand what you mean. But Mr. Bach, do you have a wish? I can help you achieve it."

"My wish..."

The disdain on the owl's face slowly faded. For a moment, it didn't know how to respond to Little Barty.

The evening grew darker, and the train reached the station.

Students heading to Hogwarts began bustling about, changing into their robes.

Little Barty stood up and started packing his luggage. Just then, a polite knock came from the train window.

Knock, knock, knock!

The owl named Hoffa turned its head 180 degrees and saw a blurry figure standing outside the door. It immediately went silent, picked up a black bone with its beak, tucked it under its wing, and retreated into its cage, pretending to be an ordinary owl.

Little Barty took a sip of Polyjuice Potion, then got up to open the compartment door. To his surprise, it was Cedric Diggory standing there again.

"Excuse me, may I come in?" Cedric asked with a charming smile.

"What are you here for this time?" Little Barty's face twitched slightly.

"We're looking for someone on the train," Cedric said, his smile unchanged, but it felt strangely stiff.

"Looking for whom?" Little Barty asked.

Cedric didn't answer.

Hoffa sensed something was off. He pulled his head slightly out from under his wing.

Cedric Diggory moved like a wooden puppet, sidestepping into the compartment. Mechanically, he bent down to check beneath the small table, then tiptoed to examine the luggage rack. He even lifted the owl cage to take a look.

"What exactly are you trying to find in here?" Little Barty demanded.

"A young man with gray hair and golden eyes. Have you seen him?" Cedric Diggory asked, his smile frozen, his tone unnervingly flat.

Hoffa felt as though he'd been struck by lightning.

In that moment, he sharply sensed an immense, cold mental force spreading silently through the train compartment, comparable to his own abilities at night.

Immediately, Hoffa retracted his mental presence, burying his head under his wing, remaining motionless.

Little Barty was dumbfounded. He stood there blankly, staring at the smiling young man before him with a ghostly expression. "W-what... golden eyes?"

"Golden eyes. What's with your expression? Have you seen him?" Cedric asked, his smile unchanging.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Little Barty said sternly, tapping his cane on the ground for emphasis. Pointing to his own gray hair, he added, "Golden eyes? What kind of bizarre person is that? Some dark wizard, perhaps? Look carefully—I have blue eyes, and I'm definitely not young!"

For a few seconds, there was silence.

"No, never mind," Cedric finally said. He gave the compartment one last glance before stepping out with steady, deliberate strides. He moved on to the next compartment to continue his inquiries.

Once Cedric was gone, Hoffa slowly pulled his head out from under his wing. If owls could sweat, he would've been drenched.

Gray hair, golden eyes, a young man?

Who thought of him like that?

The only person he could think of was Dumbledore.

Other than Dumbledore, who else could possess such overwhelming mental strength?

Could Dumbledore have predicted that he would come to Hogwarts this year? If so, why wasn't Dumbledore searching for him directly? Cedric's demeanor clearly suggested he was under the Imperius Curse. Would Dumbledore really cast such a spell on his own student?

Hoffa couldn't make sense of it.

Did Dumbledore discover his collaboration with Voldemort?

Or had the butterfly effect of his existence altered Dumbledore in some way, transforming him into someone unrecognizable?

An unknown fog of uncertainty clouded Hoffa's mind, rendering him momentarily paralyzed.

The compartment gradually emptied.

"Mr. Bach?" After a long time, Little Barty asked in a hushed voice. Cedric Diggory's strange behavior had clearly unsettled him.

"Let's get off the train," the owl inside the cage said coldly.

"Golden eyes? That... that guy just now—was he looking for you?" Little Barty asked hesitantly.

"No," Hoffa replied curtly. "I'm bald."

"But, um, I think if... if you had gray hair, you'd look way cooler," Little Barty said, habitually flattering him despite his nervousness, sweat beading on his forehead. "You didn't... you didn't shave your hair off on purpose, did you?"

"Oh, shut up already!" Hoffa snapped sharply, clearly in a foul mood.

Cedric Diggory's search had completely put him on edge.

He had initially believed that knowing the original story's plotline would allow him to effortlessly send Harry to Voldemort.

But now, he realized the limitations of the original narrative. Everything in the story was from Harry's perspective. Beyond what Harry experienced, Hoffa knew nothing.

It was like a massive iceberg floating in the ocean. Harry stood atop the bright, visible tip, while Hoffa was submerged in the dark, chaotic depths beneath.

The illuminated portion above was dazzling, but the vast, shadowy unknown below suffocated him.

At first, he had wanted no part in the plot.

But now, he feared deviations and unexpected twists in the story, as the known plot was his only advantage.

What if Voldemort didn't revive?

What if Grindelwald quietly killed everyone?

Even imagining these outcomes gave him a headache.

(End of Chapter)

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