Chapter 16: The Mysterious Collection
To become someone who could truly outlast all challenges and pursue freedom and happiness in this magical world, strength was essential. And the quickest way to gain strength was by developing his system. However, for now, Hoffa's only accessible wizarding domain was Hogwarts. Therefore, his immediate priority was to find a method to cast the Disillusionment Charm.
To reach the library in the castle, Hoffa needed to pass through the school's hunting grounds. The hunting grounds formed a vast green expanse between the Forbidden Forest and the castle, stretching over several kilometers like a sprawling emerald carpet. A gentle breeze made the grass ripple and hum.
Halfway across, Hoffa noticed numerous magical runes on the ground. They were neatly arranged and emitted a faint blue glow, appearing to be some kind of functional magic array.
A magical array on the lawn?
Hoffa was curious and observed it closely as he walked.
Suddenly, he saw a group of about a dozen figures gathered in the distance. Judging by their attire, they were older Hogwarts students, seemingly engrossed in an animated discussion. As Hoffa took a shortcut, he found himself crossing paths with the group and paused to watch for a moment.
Their voices grew louder as they argued:
"How are we supposed to manage this?"
"Who could've done it?"
"It's been days now..."
"Why hasn't the Ministry sent anyone yet?"
"Headmaster Dippet said he'd handle it personally."
Hoffa edged closer to the group and peeked over their shoulders. Behind them, the once-intact runic array was now torn apart, with a massive gap in the formation. Chunks of grass and soil had been flung aside, leaving the ground riddled with craters and scorch marks.
A teleportation array!
Hoffa's heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned. He remembered what Headmaster Armando Dippet had mentioned during the opening feast: "The Ministry has set up a dedicated teleportation point in the school's hunting grounds. Students in their sixth year or above can use it to travel to specialized Ministry facilities for Auror training, provided they have the necessary approvals."
The older students were still bickering, their faces full of worry. Most seemed concerned about their studies and the tasks they were unable to complete.
"My credits are already short—what am I supposed to do now?"
"You think that's bad? If I can't finish this assignment, I might not even graduate this year!"
"Can't we use another method to get to the Ministry? Why do we have to rely on the teleportation array?"
"No way. Didn't you hear Headmaster Dippet? We have to follow the school's arrangements."
Listening for a while, Hoffa approached a quiet older student standing with arms crossed. In a low voice, he asked, "Excuse me, what's going on here?"
The older student glanced down, noting that Hoffa barely came up to his ribcage. Bending closer, he whispered, "What year are you in? Why are you here?"
"I'm a first-year," Hoffa replied. "I just happened to pass by. Isn't this the Ministry's teleportation point?"
"It is," the older student said with a worried expression. "But some unknown troublemaker destroyed it, and now we can't teleport for our internships."
Destroyed the teleportation array?
Hoffa thought to himself, Someone actually dared to do such a thing?
He wanted to ask more, but a group of figures suddenly appeared in the distance, striding towards them.
The older student quickly nudged Hoffa. "You'd better leave. Professor Gorshak is coming. You don't want him seeing you here!"
Hoffa glanced over and spotted a figure in bronze-colored robes approaching. Remembering the professor's reputation for strictness, a chill ran down his spine. Without looking back, he hurried off, circling around the hunting grounds to return to Hogwarts.
For Hoffa, this was just a minor episode. The identity of whoever had sabotaged the teleportation array had nothing to do with him.
Back at Hogwarts, he headed straight for the library. His system's exploration percentage remained stuck at 0.5%. He hadn't even explored 1% of Hogwarts yet. Learning how to become invisible or stealthy was an urgent priority.
The library was vast, housing thousands of books across hundreds of narrow aisles. Towering bookshelves lined the space, and some students had to use ladders to reach the higher shelves.
The library was mostly populated by older students researching and writing papers. First-years were nowhere to be seen. Few first-years were like Hermione; coursework was relatively light at their age, and most preferred to play rather than visit the library.
Hoffa had previously scoured the library's section on spellcasting for information on the Disillusionment Charm. However, he had nearly exhausted the beginner spell areas accessible to lower-year students.
After another round of searching, Hoffa began to feel disheartened.
He couldn't find a single book with the word invisibility in its index.
It seemed his luck was running out lately. If the law of conservation of fortune applied, then perhaps any luck he had had been entirely spent on his slight talent for Transfiguration.
Hoffa pondered for a while. The school was definitely a place he needed to explore, the rules were certainly not something he could entirely follow, and any discoveries he made must absolutely remain unnoticed.
But was there an alternative to invisibility?
After some thought, Hoffa suddenly recalled the Marauders—Harry Potter's father, Sirius Black, and their friends.
They were notorious rule-breakers too. Aside from their Invisibility Cloak, another crucial reason for their success was that they were Animagi.
Hoffa saw a glimmer of hope.
That's it—Animagus! If he couldn't turn invisible, transforming into a small animal could also allow him to explore the school. And didn't he already have some talent in Transfiguration?
Once this idea took root, it was hard to shake off. Coupled with his growing interest in Transfiguration, Hoffa decided to leave the section on charms and head to the area where Transfiguration books were stored.
The Transfiguration section was located next to Potions and covered a large area. However, there weren't many books suitable for first-year students.
Hoffa picked out a few titles that caught his interest: Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Transformations of Matter and Magic, and Basics of Quick Transfiguration.
After reading through several of them, Hoffa felt a bit disappointed. Most of the content was already covered in the standard textbooks, and the explanations weren't as engaging as Dumbledore's lectures. These books seemed better suited for someone like Filch.
Unwilling to give up, he continued browsing. Some books offered valuable insights, while others were completely unhelpful.
As he flipped through the pages, Hoffa didn't notice how deep he had ventured into the library, engrossed in his quest for knowledge.
Suddenly, he heard a faint whispering nearby.
"Look at me."
"No."
"Look at me instead."
"I have the most knowledge."
"No, no, no, my knowledge is greater."
"But mine is more useful."
Startled, Hoffa quickly looked up, only to find that no one was around. All the books lay silently on their shelves, motionless.
Yet the whispers persisted, filled with dispute.
"Don't listen to him."
"Don't listen to him."
"Come here, child."
"I can make you shine."
"Shine?"
"Reading books to shine? Foolishness."
"Tut-tut-tut."
"Short-sighted."
"Knowledge itself is desire."
"Oh!"
"Damn!"
"Silence, all of you!"
"Let him choose for himself."
The voices continued in low murmurs, and Hoffa's eyes widened in surprise.
The books are... arguing?
Why could he hear the voices of the books? Was this something all wizards experienced?
Confused, he took a cautious step closer, curiosity pulling him forward.
The voices of the books grew even more chaotic, each one belittling others and praising itself, as if desperately trying to market itself to him.
Hoffa slowly moved along the bookshelf, and then his attention was drawn to a large, old book wedged into the third row.
Somehow, he felt an instinctive connection with this book.
While all the other books were noisily arguing, this one remained utterly silent, radiating an aura of quiet confidence.
Hoffa reached out and pulled out the thick tome, nearly the size of his chest.
"Oh, damn it."
"Good luck."
"Hmph, another one."
"Let's leave, let's leave."
The moment Hoffa made his choice, the surrounding books muttered and grumbled, but then finally fell silent.
He examined the self-assured book carefully. Its cover was made from an unknown creature's hide, with an unusual texture and a faint smell of singed leather lingering on it.
The book seemed to have been burned at some point, and its cover bore faded silver lettering written in a chaotic scrawl:
"Anatomy of All Things: Structure is King"
Author—Morgana Le Fay
"What an audacious title," Hoffa muttered, raising an eyebrow.
He opened the book, and with a single glance, he was captivated.
On the first page was a meticulously detailed anatomical diagram of a lion, shown from every possible angle. It depicted everything from its fur to its nervous system and the flow of its magical energy.
At the bottom of the page, a note read:
"The foundation of Transfiguration is understanding. Transforming into a cat and transforming into a lion are not fundamentally different in terms of magic. The only difference is how deeply you understand the target of your transformation. To transform into a cat, you must thoroughly understand cats. To transform into a lion, you must thoroughly understand lions. The same applies to becoming an Animagus..."
Hoffa's breathing quickened slightly. It was as though this book had peered directly into his mind and knew exactly what he was looking for. It wasted no time with unnecessary introductions, diving straight into the heart of the matter—utterly different from those flashy, superficial books outside.
Without hesitation, Hoffa turned the page.
On the second page was a detailed anatomical drawing of a massive eagle, every bone and feather meticulously rendered.
"By channeling magic, one moves between the subject and the object. The greatest challenge is not in understanding the target, but in achieving a profound understanding of oneself. Those who cannot dissect their own nature cannot become true masters of Transfiguration..."
Hoffa was struck by the words on the page. To him, they rang out like a bell, resonating deeply within.
He was just about to turn to the next page when suddenly, a gray-bearded librarian appeared out of nowhere and snatched the book from his hands. "Hey, kid, do you have a professor's signature?"
Annoyance flared within Hoffa, but when he glanced up, he noticed the bold red letters above: Restricted Section. It hit him—he'd broken the rules. Accessing the Restricted Section required a professor's written permission.
Seeing Hoffa remain silent, the librarian put his hands on his hips and glared.
"No signature, yet you're in the advanced section looking for books? What if a magical backlash from one of these books occurred? Who's responsible then? Me or you? Now, out you go!"
Wielding a feather duster like a weapon, the librarian herded Hoffa out of the library with a mix of shoves and waves.
Standing outside the library, Hoffa kicked a nearby column in frustration. His heart burned with unwillingness.
"Just my luck," he thought bitterly. "When it rains, it pours. Can't get anything right lately."
The worst part was being interrupted right when he was engrossed in reading. He seethed, thinking that if that old man had just been a little slower, he might have uncovered the secret to becoming an Animagus.
Frustrated for a while, Hoffa began thinking about a solution.
He had to get that book, no matter what. But with so many rules at Hogwarts, where could he possibly get a professor's signature?
His thoughts drifted to the original story—Harry and Hermione sneaking into the Restricted Section in their second year to find the recipe for Polyjuice Potion. But they had the clueless Lockhart to help. Who could he approach now? Dumbledore was definitely out of the question—too sharp to be fooled. Goschawk, the strict old librarian, was even less of an option; he wouldn't even cut his granddaughter any slack.
With a face full of worry, Hoffa walked out of the library and realized it was already pitch black outside. He had unknowingly stayed in the library far too long.
A pang of hunger hit him, and he hurried toward the Great Hall. He'd already missed dinner, so he could only hope there was still some food left.
Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, the hall was mostly empty, with only a few scattered people and leftover desserts on the table.
Feeling his luck couldn't get any worse, Hoffa ate a bit of dessert before heading back to the Ravenclaw common room, both empty-handed and empty-stomached.
The common room was unusually lively. A group of kids was enthusiastically discussing Quidditch.
At the center of the crowd was Aglaia, her silver hair shimmering as she basked in the admiration of her peers. Her exceptional flying skills had earned her widespread praise. Like stars orbiting a moon, they surrounded her, bombarding her with questions about flying techniques.
Noticing Hoffa enter, Aglaia immediately raised her voice, like a proud swan, as she dispensed flying advice to her admirers.
"Jillen, your posture is too hunched, and your center of gravity leans too far forward. There's no way you'll fly well like that."
"William, your grip is off. You habitually use your left hand to steer and your right hand to swing the bat. If you keep steering with your right hand during a match, you're doomed."
"Tyler, you did well today, but I can tell you're still afraid of flying. Don't be scared—you're not a Muggle. Not like some people..."
She emphasized some people loudly, her insinuation unmistakable.
Hoffa ignored her completely, treating her words like air. Since the noisy common room wasn't suitable for meditation, he decided to retreat to his dormitory and meditate there.
But just as he was about to go upstairs, Miranda emerged from the crowd and grabbed his arm.
"Where have you been? I've been looking for you forever."
"What's up?" Hoffa asked indifferently.
"You didn't eat dinner, did you?"
Miranda handed him a wrapped package. When Hoffa opened it, he saw food—some chicken legs and bread. Although cold, the gesture warmed his heart.
He stuffed the food into his mouth, and Miranda stood by, offering comfort:
"It's no big deal if you can't fly well. I'm not great at it either. In two weeks, our house has its first Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Are you going to watch?"
Hoffa was taken aback. After everything that had happened today, he had absolutely no interest in Quidditch. Miranda must have come to console him, thinking he was upset. She really was a kind girl.
But right now, Hoffa's mind was entirely focused on Transfiguration. He couldn't care less about trivial matters like this.
Still, he didn't want to outright refuse Miranda, so he nodded half-heartedly. "Sure, why not?"
Miranda leaned in close and whispered:
"Aglaia has been chosen as a reserve Seeker for the house team. Next week, the main Seeker is going to the Ministry for Auror training. If you could cheer for her just once, I think it could be a great opportunity for you two to put aside your differences."
A reserve Seeker—Aglaia! Cheer for her to mend fences?
Hoffa felt like his stomach had tied itself into knots. It was as if he'd just swallowed a pile of dung—utterly revolting.
Miranda was cunning. First, she offered him food and then asked him to attend. If she'd led with the second part, he wouldn't have agreed to watch the Quidditch match even if it killed him.
She must have figured out his weakness—he couldn't resist soft approaches over hard ones.
(To be continued)
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