Chapter 312: The Freed Auror

"Dammit! Dammit!!"

Hoffa sprinted away from the Ravenclaw common room, clutching his right hand tightly. "What spell did you cast on me, you bastard?"

"Puppet Curse. From now on, you're my puppet. I can do whatever I want with your body unless your mental strength surpasses mine," Miller's voice rang out in Hoffa's mind, followed by a burst of laughter. "But that's impossible. I know you're strong, but I've got fifty years of experience on you! Hahaha!"

"Just wait! Once this is over, I'm telling your sister everything you've done!" Hoffa retorted in the tone of an exasperated parent.

"Tell her what? Tell her you touched—"

"Shut up! Nobody asked you!"

Hoffa fled the Ravenclaw common room in a panic, swearing as he ran. He bolted back to his Defense Against the Dark Arts office and, feeling guilty, quickly dove into his suitcase.

Inside the suitcase, Moody was still tied to a pillar, wrapped in countless chains.

Flick was busy tending to a comatose Barty Crouch Jr., serving tea and water. For two days, the younger Crouch had shown no signs of waking up, lying there like a lifeless wooden figure.

"Sir, you're back?"

Flick greeted him as he entered. Over the past two days, Hoffa had been obsessively researching the Unforgivable Curses, leaving Flick to handle most of the mundane tasks.

"Flick, uh—"

Before Hoffa could do anything, Miller seized control of his body again. Like a mischievous child spotting a new toy, Miller's eyes lit up, and he rushed toward Flick.

"A house-elf? You actually have one of these things!"

Flick's respectful expression quickly morphed into one of terror as the bald youth stumbled toward him.

"Ha! My sister always forbade me from playing with Pettie, but I think these little creatures make excellent servants. They're just so ugly—let's fix that! Alter Appearance!"

With a snap, a puff of green smoke enveloped Flick. When it cleared, the dirty, big-nosed elf had transformed into a dainty little girl no taller than a meter. Her skin was pale, her nose petite, and her lips cherry red—she looked like Thumbelina, perfectly conforming to human standards of beauty.

Miller nodded approvingly. "Now that's more like it."

"Stop altering her appearance!" Hoffa snapped in frustration, pointing his left hand at Flick. "Finite Incantatem!"

A puff of smoke later, Flick was back to her original form, big nose and all, utterly bewildered.

"Only a fool would live with an ugly creature! My sister's just as ridiculous—Alter Appearance!" Miller raised Hoffa's right hand again.

Snap! Flick turned back into the dainty little girl.

"If you keep changing her, people will notice something's wrong!" Hoffa protested.

Snap! Flick reverted to her original elf form.

"Who's going to care about a kitchen elf?"

Snap! Flick became the dainty girl once more.

"Miranda didn't send you here to annoy me! Finite Incantatem!"

Hoffa was utterly exasperated, staring at his uncontrollable right hand. Miller might claim to have fifty more years of life experience, but he was acting even more immature than he had been back in Miranda's household.

Snap! Flick became the elf again.

"Once we leave this room, I'll do whatever I want! Alter Appearance!"

Snap! Flick transformed into the dainty girl yet again.

The bald youth twirled around the office, practically dancing with excitement, while poor Flick was too terrified to speak.

From his spot chained to the pillar, Moody watched the scene unfold, his eyes gleaming with confusion and vigilance. The erratic expressions on the boy's face—anger one moment, madness the next—made him seem more unhinged than ever before.

Hoffa finally gave up on physically wrestling control from Miller. Instead, he dove into his own mental sea, seeking a resolution there.

As a result, the dancing bald youth froze mid-movement, standing on one leg before Moody, completely motionless.

After a few seconds of eerie silence, Flick clutched her face in horror. "He's gone mad! Mr. Bach has gone mad! What should we do now?" She collapsed onto the floor and scurried backward, hiding under Barty Crouch Jr.'s bed, trembling uncontrollably.

Moody, still chained to the pillar, observed the bizarre scene in front of him. In all his years, he had never encountered someone so inexplicably odd.

Inside Hoffa's mental sea, a white light illuminated the space, where he found a wild, dancing boy.

It was Hoffa's first time seeing Miller's true form.

This persona, born from Miranda's psyche, bore a striking resemblance to her first-year self, almost identical. However, a sinister, unhinged air clung to his features, making it impossible to overlook.

Caught off guard by Miller's antics, Hoffa momentarily forgot about his research into resurrection spells and the Unforgivable Curses. At that moment, all he wanted was to yank Miller out of his body and pummel him senseless.

Unfortunately, Miller had no physical form.

Hoffa's spirit condensed into a miniature version of himself, and he lunged forward, punching Miller in the face. But the blow felt like hitting solid stone, leaving Hoffa dazed from the recoil.

Unfazed, Miller laughed and landed a counterpunch on Hoffa, forcing him to stumble back three steps.

It was then that Hoffa realized something unsettling—Miller was no longer the inexperienced child he had once known. His spiritual strength now rivaled Hoffa's, possibly even surpassing it. In this mental clash, Hoffa felt as though he might actually lose.

"Does it feel soft?"

Miller, grinning from ear to ear, asked eagerly.

"What?" Hoffa was momentarily confused.

"Your junior's tender body!" Miller's eyes sparkled with anticipation, as though he were more curious about the sensation than Hoffa.

"Get lost!" Hoffa roared, furious. "Get out of my body!"

"Fine, but remember—you asked for it," Miller replied nonchalantly, turning to leave without a hint of hesitation.

Thinking of the reality outside the mental world, Hoffa gritted his teeth and lunged forward again, grabbing Miller by the shoulder. "Wait a second!"

Miller: "?"

Hoffa: "What did Miranda want you to give me?"

Miller: "Hah, what kind of attitude is that?"

"Fine, I was impulsive."

Hoffa said begrudgingly, silently vowing to craft a body for this guy after everything was over—just so he could hang him up and beat him senseless.

"Are you going soft?"

Miller pressed relentlessly.

"Yes, soft."

Hoffa resisted his disgust. He had no idea how this guy behaved while inhabiting Miranda's body, but if it was like this every day, it was a wonder she managed to maintain that casual, carefree attitude of hers.

"Comfortable?" Miller asked again.

Hoffa kept his head down, saying nothing.

"Soft or not? Comfortable or not?"

Miller buzzed around Hoffa like a fly, his face plastered with a malicious grin.

"Comfortable," Hoffa spat through gritted teeth, practically grinding the words out.

"Then do you want more? How about we switch to a new junior girl every day?" Miller, in his childlike form, slung an arm around Hoffa's shoulder and whispered with a lecherous chuckle. "I'll handle the touching, and you handle the escaping."

"You!! Go!! To!! Hell!!"

Hoffa finally lost it. His entire form transformed into a fifty-meter spiked mace, smashing Miller and sending him flying.

In the real world, time continued to pass. Dust floated lazily in the air of the room, undisturbed. Old Moody, watching the immobile figure, felt a bead of cold sweat slide down his forehead. His years as an Auror told him that two immense mental forces were entangled in a fierce struggle within the room.

What's going on with this kid?

Suddenly, the chains binding his mouth slackened, as if the Transfiguration spell had abruptly lost its effect. Moody froze for a moment, then moved his arms, realizing the chains restraining them had also loosened.

Could it be...?

A surge of joy flooded Moody. The boy before him seemed to have fallen into some sort of predicament, unable to maintain the stability of his Transfiguration spell.

An enemy's crisis is an opportunity for escape. Without hesitation, Moody began struggling against his restraints. The chains around his arms grew looser until he managed to free one hand and tear off the chain around his mouth, tossing it to the floor with a clang.

Under the bed, Shiny, trembling with fear, watched the one-eyed old man free a hand from the chains. Her face went pale. Glancing at the motionless, vacant-eyed young Barty on the bed, she gritted her teeth and crawled out from under the bed, pointing her slender finger at Moody.

"You—you can't leave!"

The chains Moody had discarded began flying back toward him under Shiny's control, wrapping around his body once more. But he sneered, raising a hand to dispel the animated chains. "Just you?"

He freed his other hand from the chains, extended it, and made a grasping motion. A black wand shot out from the room's shadows, landing in Moody's palm.

"Mr. Bach! Mr. Bach! Please wake up! The Auror—the Auror's escaping!"

Shiny rushed forward, clinging to Hoffa's leg, shaking his unresponsive body desperately.

As she shook him, her entire body suddenly floated upward.

Fully freed, Moody grabbed the house-elf and slammed her heavily onto the ground.

Then he picked up the motionless Hoffa, pressing him against an iron pillar and binding him tightly with the same chains that had once restrained himself. After ensuring Hoffa was securely tied, he searched the room for his prosthetic leg and magical eye, attaching them to his body before limping toward the exit.

In the mental realm, the once-bright expanse of white light was now engulfed in thick smoke. Hoffa, having reverted from his spiked mace form to human form, focused all his attention on Miller, leaving no room for distraction.

In the brief span of time, Miller had engaged Hoffa's consciousness in battle hundreds of times. In this mental clash, even the slightest misstep could lead to a fate like young Barty's—mentally damaged and deranged.

Before long, Miller strolled back leisurely from a distance, completely unharmed.

"I've actually given some thought to your proposal," Miller said. "Possessing a male body. But every man I've encountered is too weak to meet my needs."

A deep longing flashed across Miller's youthful face. "But you're different. You barely meet my standards, Hoffa."

"What are you talking about?" Hoffa asked warily.

"Guess what would happen if I destroyed your soul, took over your body, and went back to see my sister? Would she be happy?"

"Even a child could tell she wouldn't be!"

Miller's manic grin turned into a sorrowful expression. "Not much time left anyway. How would I know if I don't try?"

"Not much time left? What do you mean?" Hoffa demanded.

Miller stepped closer, speaking in a detached tone. "Fate is an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. I've seen your tail, so naturally, I know what your head looks like. Nothing matters anymore, Hoffa. Enjoy the present. Hogwarts is full of beautiful girls. If you want, we can harvest them like crops."

"After all these years, do you think I'm some lust-driven fool?" Hoffa asked coldly.

"You're a hypocrite. Who knows what the real you is like?"

"To be honest, physical intimacy without love only leaves me disgusted and empty." Hoffa's voice grew firm. "We've talked and fought. Are you finally going to teach me the three Unforgivable Curses?"

"Hmph."

Miller rolled his eyes and sighed before smirking. "You want to master all three Unforgivable Curses in one night? Even a god couldn't do that."

"What?! So you've been toying with me this whole time?" Hoffa's face darkened.

"Not entirely. Don't you still have someone by your side?" Miller shrugged, smirking wickedly. "If he's still around, that is."

"Someone else?"

Thinking of Moody, Hoffa's expression shifted immediately.

Ignoring Miller, he pulled his focus back to reality.

The moment he returned, pain surged through his body. Looking down, Hoffa saw himself bound tightly by chains, his hands and feet pierced by iron nails and fixed to a pillar, unable to move. Shiny lay unconscious on the ground, her forehead bruised, while Alastor Moody was nowhere to be seen.

Snap!

With a spurt of blood, Hoffa forcibly pulled out the nails, freeing himself from the pillar.

Moments earlier, his focus on dealing with Miller had caused his Transfiguration spell to waver briefly, allowing Moody to escape.

At that moment, Hoffa's right hand moved involuntarily, his mouth opening with a casual yawn.

"If I were you, I'd have broken his legs. You're too soft."

"Shut up!" Hoffa grabbed his right hand angrily. "One more word and don't blame me for turning on you!"

"Such a feeble threat."

His right hand lifted itself, sticking out its tongue like a mischievous child.

Damn it!

Hoffa cursed inwardly. Without waiting for his feet to heal, he let go of his rebellious hand and dashed out of the room.

Outside the office, the night remained dark. Closing his eyes for a second, he immediately deduced Moody's destination.

His disguise hadn't been exposed yet. If Moody wanted to unmask him, the quickest way would be to find Dumbledore. Only Dumbledore could pose the greatest threat to him. With this realization, Hoffa charged toward the headmaster's office.

(End of Chapter)

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