Chapter 307: Mimicry Monster

When Little Barty and Hoffa stepped off the train car, most of the people outside had already dispersed.

In the distance, the towering Hogwarts Castle loomed in the night, hiding countless untold secrets.

On the Black Lake, ripples splashed across the rugged surface as hundreds of first-year students participated in the traditional crossing ceremony. Leading them was a burly man with coarse hair, whistling as he guided the boats.

Meanwhile, on the other side, hundreds of Thestrals silently pulled carriages, slowly advancing through the rain. They passed through gates adorned with statues of winged boars, disappearing into the darkness.

"Should we follow them?"

On the platform, Little Barty hesitated, holding an umbrella, and nervously asked the owl beside him.

Hoffa, perched in the cage, gazed at the shadowy Hogwarts Castle and shook his head. "No."

"Why not? If we don't go, we might miss the feast."

"I said no, and that's final!"

Hoffa gritted his teeth. There was no way he could explain to Little Barty.

After witnessing the eerie possession of Cedric Diggory earlier, Hoffa dared not enter Hogwarts rashly. He was uncertain what awaited him in the castle. To be honest, it cast a shadow over his thoughts.

"Alright," Little Barty relented, standing motionless.

In the distance, a train conductor holding a lantern, draped in a black raincoat, wobbled towards them, seemingly inspecting the train.

"Don't just stand there. Find somewhere to hide," Hoffa said cautiously.

"Yes."

Little Barty, holding the umbrella in one hand and pushing the cart with the other, trudged towards the castle like a dutiful servant. However, before ascending the steps, he veered off towards a massive willow tree in the distance.

The tree was twisted and gnarled, with knotted bark that resembled a massive face. Its dense branches stretched upwards, like the thick tentacles of an octopus, shaking ceaselessly in the pouring rain.

Hoffa recognized it—the Whomping Willow, planted during Harry Potter's father's era. Back when Hoffa attended school, this peculiar tree didn't exist.

However, Little Barty seemed quite familiar with the willow. He maintained a safe distance, circling around it from about fifty meters away. He arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a desolate area where they could see an old stone hut and a field of large pumpkins drenched in rain.

"Is this spot good enough, Mr. Bach?" Little Barty asked.

"Yeah."

"But... what now? How long are we staying here?"

Little Barty looked bewildered.

The iron cage transformed into a rain hat, and Hoffa returned to human form. He stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, staring at the castle lights in the distance. Even now, he couldn't determine who had controlled Cedric. The uncertainty left him deeply unsettled.

A strange chill began spreading across the grounds. Deep within the stormy Forbidden Forest, faint footsteps rustled through the rain, so subtle they were almost indiscernible. But Hoffa, attuned to the night, sensed the same unease he had felt during the Quidditch World Cup.

Then, suddenly—

"Sind alle gegangen?" ("Has everyone left?")

"Sie sind alle gegangen." ("They've all left.")

"Können wir anfangen?" ("Can we start?")

"Fangen wir an." ("Let's begin.")

Someone was speaking in the Forbidden Forest. Their voices, speaking German, were low and indistinct. Hoffa squinted, turning his head slowly.

Little Barty didn't seem to hear anything. Seeing Hoffa looking back, he curiously asked, "What's wrong, Bach—"

A finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. "Follow me, and don't make a sound," Hoffa whispered.

The two moved quietly toward the source of the voices. The speakers had stopped talking after the initial exchange, leaving only the sound of stones scraping against the ground.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Through the dense forest shadows, Hoffa glimpsed a disturbing scene.

In the damp, decaying soil of the Forbidden Forest, three men wearing birdcage helmets knelt in the darkness, entirely naked and silent. Each held a sharp dagger, kneeling before a circular arrangement of stones.

A flash of lightning illuminated the scene as they simultaneously raised their daggers, slowly carving symbols into their chests—a circle, a triangle, and a vertical line.

Blood gushed from their pale bodies, but their faces showed little pain. Instead, they appeared serene, almost relieved.

The blood mixed with the rainwater, seeping into the circular formation on the ground. Without a sound, it spread, releasing layers of blood-red mist that rose into the air. The mist burned silently on their bodies like crimson flames.

A sharp, chilling wind blew from an unknown direction, causing frost to rapidly form on the leaves and shrubs around them.

Hoffa's expression shifted repeatedly. This was some kind of ritual—similar to the blood sigil that old hunter Joy had carved into his hand to open Helheim, yet different.

These men were summoning something.

As their bodies shriveled visibly, Little Barty backed away in alarm.

Hoffa's hat transformed into a birdcage helmet identical to those worn by the three. Without hesitation, he stepped out from his hiding place and approached the trio.

The three men, bathed in the crimson flames, looked up in surprise when they saw him.

"Hey, what are you doing here? Didn't the master say the plan was delayed?" Hoffa spoke fluent German, bluffing. He didn't know what they were up to but was certain they were Grindelwald's followers.

"The master only sent the three of us to open the gate. What are you doing here?" one of the shriveled men asked weakly, his voice emanating from the red mist.

"Gate? What gate?" Hoffa pressed, taking a step closer. "Where is the master now?"

"The master is—wait. Why can't I sense your thoughts?" One of the men in the circle pointed at Hoffa's birdcage helmet, his tone growing wary.

"What?" Hoffa feigned confusion.

"He's not one of us!"

Another man abruptly stood, releasing his grip on the dagger. He screamed into the red flames, "Change the coordinates! Don't let the master come here!"

Before Hoffa could react, the three men scrambled out of the circle and ran in different directions.

Hoffa chased after them, but the blood-red flames engulfed their bodies before they got far. Like paper figures, they burned to ash, their remains dissolving into the rain-soaked earth as a sludge-like substance.

By the time Hoffa reached their location, all that remained were a few charred bones.

"What is this...?"

Hoffa picked up a fragment of a skull.

The icy skull crumbled in his hand like a brittle biscuit, identical to the ones he had retrieved from Mad-Eye Moody's possessions.

Plop.

Something fell from the sky, landing on Hoffa's face.

Reaching up, he touched it—a cold, wriggling object. Upon closer inspection, he found a reddish-brown worm, about as long as a finger, squirming in his palm.

"Mr. Bach!" Little Barty's panicked voice called from behind him.

He turned his head and saw little Barty trembling in the distance, pointing a shaky finger above his head.

Hoffa looked up, only to find that a crack had somehow appeared in the thunderclouds above. The pitch-black night sky now resembled an open triangular eye, tearing a fissure through the space itself. The surrounding temperature plummeted abruptly.

A biting wind blew out from the eye-like rift, sweeping across the ground. It encrusted the nearby trees with frost, their cracking sounds filling the air, as though the wind could obliterate everything in its path.

Then, with a wet plopping sound, countless maggots rained down from the rift above.

The cold wind struck little Barty, eliciting a horrifying scream from him as he clutched his head and collapsed to the ground, rolling frantically in agony.

The maggots descending from the sky quickly engulfed his writhing body.

Shocked, Hoffa rushed to Barty's side in just a few strides and yanked him out of the pile of squirming insects.

Barty's face was deathly pale, his body shaking uncontrollably. He muttered incoherent, nonsensical words, his expression twisted with pain, as though he had consumed a lethal potion in some dark cavern.

"Why... Father, why... why?" he screamed, his voice hoarse and tormented.

"Barty!? Barty Crouch!?"

Hoffa grabbed his head, trying to wake him up, but Barty's strength in his struggle was overwhelming. He convulsed, frothing at the mouth, and gasped in broken syllables, "Sh-sh... where are you?"

"Barty, can you hear me? Barty!"

Hoffa anxiously patted his face.

Barty shook his head wildly, drooling uncontrollably as he flailed about.

Meanwhile, the maggots falling from the rift began to pile up. At first, they were chaotic and disorganized, but gradually they formed the shape of two figures—one pile holding onto the other.

"Damn it!"

Hoffa let go of Barty and stood up.

The distant maggot pile also rose, releasing the second shape as it took form. The swarm of insects sloughed off, revealing something grotesque and humanoid.

Hoffa glanced back at the sky, where the rift had vanished completely. The cold wind had ceased, leaving behind only the maggots, which continued mimicking his movements.

Realization struck Hoffa. These three people must have originally intended to summon Grindelwald. However, upon noticing his presence, they changed their plan. Instead of summoning Grindelwald, they called forth Helheim's maggot creatures—monsters Hoffa had encountered once in the Deathly Hallows during his first year. These creatures could infinitely mimic living beings.

The mass of maggots from Helheim began merging more cohesively, their resemblance to Hoffa becoming increasingly uncanny. At first, they mimicked only his actions, but eventually, even his bald head and golden eyes were replicated. The only difference was that the mimic was much larger, towering over Hoffa by several meters.

As the maggots writhed and merged, the final transformation was complete. The creature, now indistinguishable from Hoffa in appearance, stared at its hands with a disturbingly human expression of joy.

"Free... we're free!"

The gigantic imitation of Hoffa burst into jubilant laughter. "We're free!"

It turned its gaze toward the distant lights of Hogwarts Castle and bolted in that direction, exclaiming gleefully, "I'm free! Haha, free at last!"

Its behavior made Hoffa's veins bulge with anger. Gripping a nearby fir tree, he uprooted it entirely and swung it like a club, smashing the massive mimic with such force that it was sent flying a hundred meters, crashing through countless trees.

"We're free! Free at last!"

The maggot-made Hoffa was unfazed. It climbed back to its feet, licking the rainwater off a nearby tree in a grotesque manner, drooling all the while.

As it licked, its stomach growled violently. It grabbed a handful of dirt and stuffed it into its mouth, chewing with apparent delight. "The taste of reality! The taste of reality! Free at last!"

Then, it leaped up again, heading straight for Hogwarts Castle.

"Free, my ass!"

Hoffa gritted his teeth, fury boiling within him. Fate had been capricious enough—he had been cautious and low-profile to avoid unnecessary trouble. There was no way he could allow a ten-meter-tall monster that looked exactly like him to wreak havoc.

He jumped high into the air, swinging the tree down with all his might. The massive wooden club shattered upon impact, driving the mimic's head several meters deep into the muddy ground.

"You can't kill me! Haha, I'm just like you!"

The mimic laughed maniacally, twisting its body in an unnatural 180-degree turn. Its chest glowed ominously with three concentric red circles, mirroring Hoffa's enchanted markings. The creature's contorted body quickly straightened, healing itself with alarming speed.

It can even mimic that?

Hoffa clutched his chest, stunned. His body, blessed by the Nocturne, was his edge during the night. If this enlarged version of himself possessed all his powers...

Within seconds, the ten-meter mimic sprouted three heads, each opening grotesque mouths filled with jagged teeth. Six blood-red wings unfurled from its back.

"Free! Free!"

It cackled with unrestrained glee, leaping high into the stormy sky. Lightning flashed, and the rain poured down harder than ever.

This is bad.

Hoffa knew he couldn't let such an abomination reach Hogwarts. If it did, all the events—the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter, everything—would be completely ruined.

Fortunately, Hoffa had faced countless crises before. He didn't panic. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a vial of Hemotoxic Elixir. With a powerful beat of his wings, he ascended into the stormy sky.

High above, the mimic sneered, swatting at Hoffa like a fly.

The clash sent Hoffa plummeting to the ground, creating a human-shaped crater dozens of meters deep.

"Free! Haha! Helheim, we've escaped!"

The mimic laughed maniacally in the air, oblivious to its lower body reverting to maggots and falling apart.

A hand emerged from the crater.

With a single point of its finger—

A thunderous crack split the sky.

A lightning bolt as thick as a thigh struck down, its purple currents incinerating the mimic instantly. The blast turned the surrounding trees into smoldering stumps.

Hoffa crawled out of the crater, drenched in mud. He approached the remnants of the maggots, now nothing more than charred shells writhing weakly before disintegrating completely.

Apart from the rain and thunder, the forest was eerily quiet. Only little Barty's incoherent groans broke the silence, adding an unsettling touch.

Hoffa exhaled deeply, shaken.

He had almost fully grasped Grindelwald's methods by now. The old man was hiding somewhere, sending agents to populous areas to unleash indiscriminate carnage.

This time, Hoffa was lucky. He hadn't joined the others in the Great Hall and had stumbled upon Grindelwald's minions in the Forbidden Forest just in time to prevent his direct arrival. Had he failed, it would've been another Quidditch World Cup disaster. Who knew how these people managed to infiltrate?

"Sh-sh... take me away. What do I do... Sh-sh, help me..."

Little Barty knelt in the mud like a broken doll, mumbling desperately for his house-elf.

Hoffa frowned. He remembered Joey telling him in first year that people with weak mental fortitude couldn't withstand Helheim's icy wind. Barty was a textbook example. Though he survived the gust, his mind was shattered.

Hoffa wasn't sure if he could heal him.

But one thing was now certain—the gates of Helheim could be opened. Perhaps, in Hogwarts, he could find a way to reach Helheim.

(End of Chapter)

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