50, Violet

Over the next several days, although the weather grew colder and colder, Ravenclaw's common room remained filled with a festive atmosphere. Everyone greatly admired Argeleia for turning the tide.

Argeleia herself was immersed in the joy of successfully showing off. Every day, she strutted around proudly like a male peacock patrolling his territory during mating season.

Whenever she happened to pass Hoffa, she would deliberately steer the conversation toward Quidditch. The unspoken message seemed to be—praise me, praise me again.

Hoffa hardly dared imagine how much he would hate this vain, puffed-up peacock if not for Schmidt Ruterov.

Fortunately, he was gradually getting used to it all.

If she ever became modest one day, that would be abnormal.

Of course, Hoffa was not about to indulge her by actually praising her.

Missing the masked person had left Hoffa in a state of inexplicable unease.

After the deadly battle in the Forbidden Forest, he had resolved to take the initiative and do something to change the situation, to escape the shadow of the dark wizard.

But when he actually tried, Hoffa discovered it was not that simple.

He returned to that club countless times, trying to find the masked person.

But it was all in vain.

He knew nothing about that person—not her name, not her identity. He did not even know how to report her. The painting at the club had long since become empty, and he could not even get inside.

Thinking of Schmidt, still on the run, and the murderous intent directed at him in the Forbidden Forest, Hoffa felt as though there were a thorn lodged in his heart, a knot that would not come undone.

He had to find that person.

At last, the term ended.

On a quiet morning, Hoffa, alone in the dormitory, welcomed his first Christmas holiday at Hogwarts.

He woke from sleep early in the morning and felt something heavy pressing down on him.

When he got up and looked, he found that the weather blanket he had bought for Maya had arrived.

Hoffa got up and unfolded the blanket.

At once, the temperature of the entire room rose considerably, making it feel as dry as a desert.

The blanket depicted brown earth bathing in sunlight and changing colors. Depending on the strength of the sunlight, the rocks would sometimes be dark blue, sometimes brown, and sometimes crimson, endlessly shifting.

Above the blanket gathered oppressive dark clouds, within which dull thunder rumbled.

In the desert beneath the thunder stood columnar cacti, with miniature owls hiding atop them. Within the cactus grove were wild boars from the Western Hemisphere, desert tortoises, huge scorpions, rattlesnakes that made clattering sounds, and terrifying giant venomous lizards.

It was a complete miniature version of Arizona's climate.

Hoffa was very satisfied. He had sent Joey's owl to Diagon Alley to buy it not long ago.

After examining the weather blanket, Hoffa was about to take it to Maya when he noticed two small boxes underneath it.

That struck Hoffa as strange. He had neither a habit of celebrating Christmas nor any expectation of receiving gifts from others.

Could someone actually have sent him a gift?

Setting down the blanket, Hoffa opened the two boxes on the floor.

The first box was made of paper, wrinkled and stained with melted snow, as if it had been sent from somewhere very far away. When he opened it, he found a letter inside.

There were only a few words on the envelope.

Yinduo, for Hoffa's eyes only.

The opened letter contained only two thin sheets of paper.

The first sheet read:

[Happy Christmas, Hoffa. I hope you are well. Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye last time. I did not dare contact you rashly, because Hogwarts still has not found the person who sabotaged the teleportation array, and things are not yet safe.

Gorshak and I reached an agreement to move the teleportation array from the hunting grounds to the observatory. But I am not sure whether that will work, because even Hogwarts' help cannot stop the spread of war.

The situation in the outside world is not optimistic. I have already relocated to New York, United States. If you have time in the future, you can come to New York and see me.

Yinduo.

P.S. Schmidt may still be somewhere in Britain. Be extremely careful. His abilities are strange. Do not leave the school grounds under any circumstances.]

After reading the first letter, Hoffa took out the second sheet.

It was not a note, but a ship ticket.

The ticket showed a lively, picturesque harbor, along with glass high-rises and a message bottle on the beach.

Thames Port, London, Britain—Manhattan Harbor, New York, United States.

(With this ticket, you may board at any time.)

After looking over Yinduo's Christmas gift, Hoffa curled his lip, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

A ship ticket?

For some reason, he suddenly thought of Red and Andy from The Shawshank Redemption.

Was the other party Andy, who had escaped prison yet still remembered to send a ship ticket to him, who was still behind bars? It was certainly novel. But after screwing him over so many times, Yinduo still wanted him to go looking for him? Keep dreaming.

Still, receiving the letter eased some of Hoffa's resentment toward him.

After all, whenever he thought of that treacherous goblin these past days, he had gritted his teeth in hatred.

After putting away the letter and ship ticket, his gaze naturally turned to the other box on the floor.

Compared to Yinduo's crude wrapping, this box was quite exquisite. It was made of mahogany and inlaid with strange silver patterns.

After turning it over for a long time and finding no signature, Hoffa opened it out of curiosity.

Inside was a blue cup for rinsing one's mouth, painted with a moving troll. The troll was actually holding a cup by the river and rinsing its mouth, looking utterly foolish.

Hoffa's expression immediately darkened.

He stuffed the cup back into the box, then shoved the box under his bed, swearing that he would never touch the thing again in his life.

After checking his gifts, Hoffa tucked the blanket under his arm and headed out.

Outside the common room, snowflakes whirled beyond the windows, battering the frozen panes. Holly and tinsel were wrapped around the stair railings, everlasting candles flickered inside the helmets of suits of armor, and huge bunches of mistletoe hung at intervals along the corridors.

Hoffa had thought he would need to go to the treehouse in the woods to find Joey, but he had overthought it.

When he reached the entrance hall, he found Joey alone, waving his wand as he moved Christmas trees into the Great Hall. He had already moved eleven of them.

"Joey."

Joey jumped when Hoffa emerged from beneath the mistletoe.

Joey looked slightly awkward. "What are you doing here? I didn't prepare a gift for you."

"It's fine. You can save it and drag me into Mormonism as compensation once I come of age."

"Enough!" Joey said angrily. "We've already discussed this. Could you stop blaspheming my faith? I won't let you convert just because of some childish fantasy."

Hoffa burst out laughing. When he was done, he stuffed the blanket in his hands into Joey's arms.

"Fine. This is for you. Go back and take good care of Maya. If you need help, write to me."

Joey accepted the blanket, but before he could even unfold it, Hoffa disappeared beneath the mistletoe.

After giving the gift to Joey, Hoffa did not hurry back to the common room.

He had something more important to do.

Go to Hogwarts' club tower.

He had done this every day for more than half a month.

For Hoffa, finding the masked person was the most vital goal at the moment.

The enemy was hidden while he was exposed. The feeling made him deeply uncomfortable.

To reach the club tower, he had to pass through the Great Hall. As he passed it, he saw Tom Riddle standing at the entrance with his arms folded, talking to several Slytherins in green robes.

When Hoffa passed by, Tom even gave a soft laugh. "Merry Christmas, Hoffa."

Receiving holiday wishes from the future Voldemort did not make Hoffa happy at all.

He merely replied mechanically, "You too, Tom."

The weather was cold, and snow lay thick outside the windows. A silence as heavy as the snow blanketed the entire club tower. With two-thirds of the students gone home, the place was far quieter than usual.

Out of caution, Hoffa cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself when he arrived. Though he was not sure whether it would work on the masked person.

He walked through the tower to the corner.

Not a single person appeared along the way. Even the paintings around him were completely empty.

At last, when Hoffa reached his destination.

It was no different from what he had seen every day for the past half month.

An inconspicuous corner, an empty painting.

Hoffa circled around twice, unsurprised by another fruitless day.

Whether there was anything to find or not, he had decided to come once every day.

He prepared to return to the common room.

However, as he descended the stairs and turned the corner, he saw a completely unexpected visitor.

It was an old man in gray robes. He was hunched over, with a half-bald head and gloomy eyes.

Amando Dippet.

The current headmaster of Hogwarts.

At the instant Hoffa saw him, Headmaster Dippet turned his head and stared directly toward where Hoffa stood invisible.

Hoffa inwardly cursed. The less trouble, the better. He had turned invisible to guard against the masked person, not to be dragged off for questioning by the headmaster.

Without hesitation, he entered Ghostwalk.

Headmaster Dippet immediately frowned.

After perhaps five or six seconds, he rubbed his eyes.

"I'm getting old."

He muttered to himself and brushed past Hoffa, who was in his shadow state.

Hoffa nearly broke out in a cold sweat. Was seeing through invisibility a basic ability for Hogwarts headmasters?

It seemed that even Harry Potter's invisibility cloak had been ineffective against Dumbledore in later years.

However, before Hoffa could marvel any longer at the headmaster's sharp eyes.

Something in the man's hand caught his attention.

Amando Dippet walked forward with his hands behind his back, but in his right hand, he held a bouquet of flowers.

A bouquet of fresh violets.