Chapter 313: Ominous Foretelling

The Dripping Beast had its mouth open, spewing water continuously into the pool below. No matter how much it poured, the pool showed no signs of filling up.

Moody stood before the Dripping Beast and shouted, "Albus! Albus, come out!"

The creature remained unmoved, staring coldly at Moody, awaiting the correct password.

"Damn it! Who came up with this ridiculous rule? Albus, get out here already!" Moody shouted anxiously, pacing before the beast's dripping mouth.

The beast glanced at him disdainfully and then turned its head away, refusing to acknowledge him.

Tap, tap, tap.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from behind.

In the darkness, Moody's magical blue eye swiveled 180 degrees. He spotted, far down the corridor, the strange youth he had previously bound. The boy leaped to the ceiling like a massive bat, his body contorted unnaturally. His right arm stretched forward, dragging his body as though it had a mind of its own.

As he sprinted, the boy's right hand opened into a mouth, its tongue wagging as it spoke mockingly, "Catch me if you can!"

"Monster! Die!"

Moody drew his wand, unleashing spells wildly down the corridor. "Reducto! Reducto!"

Hoffa, watching the chaos, was stunned. Moody, realizing he didn't know the password to enter the Headmaster's office, decided to create havoc to draw Albus Dumbledore or other staff members to the scene.

At that moment, Hoffa's right hand suddenly lifted on its own. The mouth on his hand shouted, "Finite Incantatem!"

The blue destructive spells dissipated into nothingness before they could hit the Dripping Beast. Hoffa breathed a sigh of relief, glancing at his rogue hand. Miller, you're finally proving useful. At least you stopped things from escalating further.

He approached Moody cautiously, his right hand raised in a peculiar gesture.

Mad-Eye Moody furiously waved his wand, unleashing a barrage of spells, but each one was neutralized by Miller before reaching Hoffa.

Finally, Hoffa stopped a meter away from Moody. "Mad-Eye, calm down. Let's talk."

"What are you? Some kind of monster?"

"I'm not a monster."

Moody, standing before the Dripping Beast, growled, "Do you even know whose territory you're trespassing on?"

"I do. Albus Dumbledore."

"Then why aren't you running? When he shows up, it won't matter what kind of freak you are—you'll face justice!"

"You don't know the password, so you can't enter the office."

Hoffa stepped closer, speaking gently. "Relax. I won't harm you. Once this year is over and I've achieved my goal, I'll let you go."

"Ha! Do you think I'd believe that? You locked me in a box, chained me up. Once you get what you want, you'll kill me to tie up loose ends. I've seen plenty of dark wizards like you in my time!"

"Do I look like a dark wizard to you?"

Hoffa protested, a hint of grievance in his voice. "Sure, I restricted your freedom, but I haven't harmed you physically. On the other hand, you've tried to kill me twice already—daggers, spikes, the works. If it weren't for my unique constitution, I'd be dead."

"You?"

Moody hesitated. His expression softened slightly. "Then tell me—what are you, exactly?"

"As you see, I'm just an ordinary Animagus with a few personal goals—neither ambitious nor threatening."

"Ordinary Animagus? Ha!"

Moody scoffed, leaning against the wall. "False modesty is more irritating than arrogance. Why not just admit you're trying to overpower me?"

"Fine, I'm a master of transformation! Happy now?"

As soon as Hoffa finished speaking, his eyes widened in shock.

The Dripping Beast, against which Moody was leaning, suddenly creaked open. Caught off guard, Moody stumbled backward, barely catching himself on the railing to avoid falling.

"Master of transformation" is the password?

Moody froze for a moment, then a look of elation spread across his face. Propping himself up with his wooden leg, he ascended the spiral staircase with glee.

Hoffa's expression darkened. He hurried through the opening in the wall, stepping onto the spiraling stone staircase as the door sealed shut behind him. The staircase ascended automatically, bringing him to a gleaming oak door with brass knockers.

Without knocking, Moody raised his wand and commanded, "Alohomora!"

The orange glow of the unlocking charm burst forth, and the door swung open with a bang. Moody strode in, shouting, "Albus!"

"Damn it. This is bad!"

Hoffa leaped high into the air. In his mind, Miller, acting like a seasoned driver grabbing the wheel from a reckless novice, forcibly took control of Hoffa's body.

As the door to Dumbledore's office opened, the airborne Hoffa raised his right hand and pointed directly at Moody's back.

"Imperio!"

A blinding white light struck Moody. Unlike Crouch Jr.'s Imperius Curse, Miller's was far more potent. Moody clutched his head, writhing in agony, his hands reaching desperately forward.

Even without controlling his body, Hoffa could feel Moody's mental defenses crumbling under Miller's onslaught—swiftly and utterly.

Almost simultaneously, Hoffa crashed to the ground as control of his body was returned.

In the brief moment of reprieve, he glimpsed the scene within the office.

It was a beautiful circular room adorned with portraits of past Hogwarts headmasters, all peacefully slumbering.

A phoenix perched on a golden stand near the door, its swan-sized body shimmering with vibrant red and gold feathers. Awoken by the commotion, it stretched its long tail feathers, eyeing Hoffa's vanishing form and the scarred man who had barged in.

On a shelf behind the desk, the tattered, patched Sorting Hat rested, alongside a glass case holding a gleaming sword with ruby-adorned hilt—Gryffindor's sword.

Nearby, a radiant silver glow caught Hoffa's attention. Beneath the phoenix, a chest exuded light from numerous crystalline bottles filled with silvery liquid, gently swirling like ripples on water.

Memories.

In the still-turning bottles of memory, Moody was staggering, clutching his head and struggling silently. But the more he resisted, the weaker he became. Finally, he stood motionless, like a computer frozen mid-operation.

Tap, tap, tap.

Soft footsteps echoed from the depths of the office.

Hoffa instinctively activated his ghostly shadow walk.

Moments later, Albus Dumbledore descended from the second-floor staircase, cradling a shallow stone basin with intricate runes etched along its edges. The silver glow emanated from its contents, illuminating his tired face.

His blue eyes, slightly red and puffy, betrayed his sleepless state. Despite his exhaustion, Dumbledore calmly surveyed the office, his gaze landing on the unmoving Moody.

For a brief second, he looked surprised. Then, as if nothing unusual had occurred, he placed the Pensieve on the desk. His expression was as casual as a father returning home to find his child playing in the yard.

"Good evening, Moody," he said, rubbing his eyes. "It's been a long time since we've had a late-night chat."

Drip.

Ten seconds passed.

In the shadowy void of ghostly walking, Hoffa raised his trembling right hand and cautiously retreated. Cold sweat dripped down his back. From the Ravenclaw common room to the Headmaster's office, the night had spiraled into utter madness.

He hadn't felt the pressure before, but as soon as Dumbledore appeared, the overwhelming mental force became palpable. He knew that once his shadow walk ended, Dumbledore would find him instantly—even Disillusionment wouldn't help. He had to put as much distance as possible between himself and his former teacher within the confines of his spectral state.

"Damn it. Dumbledore's perception is terrifying."

Miller's tense voice echoed in Hoffa's mind. "The Imperius Curse might not fool him for long."

"Stall as long as you can. Don't let Moody look up or make eye contact with Dumbledore," Hoffa replied silently.

"Should we attack directly?"

Miller licked his lips. "If it's just the two of us—transfiguration and curses—he might not be able to match us."

"No, we can't fight."

Without hesitation, Hoffa firmly controlled his body, slowly retreating.

"Why? You're too cautious!"

"It has nothing to do with being cautious. Hogwarts doesn't have just one headmaster."

"That's... true."

Miller rasped in agreement.

In the mental realm, the two exchanged thoughts at lightning speed.

In the real world, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Tick.

Nine seconds.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair as if nothing had happened, even cracking a joke:

"Do you have something to say to me? Is the bed at Hogwarts too hard for you to sleep comfortably?"

In the shadows, Hoffa controlled his body, continuing to retreat slowly. He couldn't clearly see Dumbledore's face, but he could detect a trace of sorrow and regret in his tone.

Wait. What kind of tone is that?

Hoffa felt deeply puzzled.

"There's a dark wizard." Alastor Moody, his head lowered, said woodenly, "I can sense an evil presence."

Dumbledore slightly parted his lips, adjusted his glasses, and sighed softly. "It seems you sense it too, old friend."

Eight seconds.

Hoffa's body trembled as he retreated. Miller, likely controlling Moody's speech without much thought, had uttered the statement casually. Yet Dumbledore had responded as though he genuinely felt something. Felt what? Hoffa's presence?

"The black star rises, and the gods continue their conflict."

Dumbledore slowly raised his black wand. "Death has sensed the provocation from the past. It will steer its chariot across the skies, leaving desolation in its wake."

"What are you talking about?!"

Seven seconds.

Moody raised his head, and the empty gaze in his eyes reflected Hoffa and Miller's shock.

Six seconds.

"I can't explain it to you—not at all. We each have problems we must resolve, whether great or small."

Dumbledore gazed at his wand, speaking almost like a man in a dream:

"But I believe my finest companions will always make the right choice. Don't you agree?"

Hoffa felt as if struck by lightning. Cold sweat poured down his back. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to penetrate space itself.

Five seconds.

The emptiness in Moody's eyes faded, and Miller gradually regained control of his body. Coldly, he questioned, "What exactly are you talking about, Albus?"

Five seconds.

Four seconds.

Three seconds.

For three full seconds, Dumbledore did not answer. He sat motionless as if petrified.

Meanwhile, an inexplicable sense of fatigue washed over Hoffa. He suddenly wanted to sleep, like a traveler who had been rushing all day and then took a sleeping pill.

He thought it was dawn, but when he glanced out the window, he saw the dark sky, the high-hanging full moon, and not a hint of sunlight. Feeling tired at night was almost unthinkable in the past.

Thankfully, the wave of fatigue passed quickly. Within three seconds, Hoffa regained his clarity and resumed retreating.

"Albus."

"Albus?"

"Albus!?"

Inside the office, Miller, controlling Moody remotely, gave Dumbledore a few nudges.

Only when Hoffa reached the door did Dumbledore jolt slightly and lift his head slowly. His sharp eyes had turned cloudy. Muttering, he said, "I'm getting old. My focus is slipping."

Then, as if just noticing Moody's presence, he asked in surprise, "What are you doing here, Alastor? How did you get in?"

He seemed to have entirely forgotten the words he'd just spoken, repeating a question he had asked moments earlier.

Miller wanted to respond, but Hoffa seized control of Moody and replied, "Oh, nothing. I just couldn't sleep in the middle of the night and wanted to come chat with you."

"What do you want to chat about?" Dumbledore asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Three days at Hogwarts, and the bed is harder than the deck of the Mayflower," Moody lamented. "My back can't take it anymore."

Tick.

Two seconds remained of the Ghost Walk.

"If that's the case, just tell Filch to get you a new bed. There's no need to report it to me."

Albus Dumbledore dismissed him absentmindedly and turned toward the Pensieve, touching his wand to his temple.

"What are you doing?" Hoffa asked, curious.

"I need to organize my thoughts. Living so long has left my mind cluttered with memories. It clouds my thinking. You should go back now."

With that, he waved his hand, exhausted. The office door slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

Before leaving, Hoffa caught one last glimpse of Dumbledore extracting a shimmering strand of memory from his temple and placing it into the Pensieve.

Tick.

One second left of the Ghost Walk.

Hoffa exited the shadow realm, taking the possessed Alastor Moody with him. Dumbledore's magic pushed them both out of the room.

Outside the headmaster's office, Hoffa stared at his right hand.

A deep sense of unease crept into his mind.

Dumbledore was stranger than ever, as if he wasn't one person but two. A few seconds ago, he had been identical to the man in the original timeline: composed, kind, powerful, and calm. But ever since that strange wave of fatigue hit, he had seemed like someone else—like the irritable and elderly Armando Dippet from fifty years ago.

This reminded Hoffa of what the Nightmare God had said: if he stayed in this time too long without returning, the entire timeline would collapse.

What was this?

The precursor to collapse?

(End of Chapter)

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