The Christmas feast downstairs had already begun. On the snow outside the castle, many wizards had lit their wands and were singing in the snow.
Fireworks of every color bloomed in the sky, taking the shapes of all kinds of animals.
They were dazzlingly beautiful.
But in a dark corridor at the very top of the castle, Hoffa walked slowly.
Moonlight streamed through the Gothic windows at the top of the tower, casting neat bands of light across the floor. The fireworks bursting in the sky from time to time painted Hoffa's face red, then green.
He was separated from the world below the castle by an invisible presence. He remained vigilant, his meditation technique running without pause.
His senses were honed to an extreme.
As he walked, the dagger in his hand slowly turned into a katana, its tip scratching a faint line across the floor.
As he rounded a corner, Hoffa suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes and turned his head. A faint, indistinct conversation reached his ears.
"...Who did the Ministry of Magic send?"
The voice sounded somewhat familiar.
Someone was coming. It was a school teacher.
Hoffa withdrew his meditation technique, and the katana in his hand turned back into a wand. He pressed himself against the wall and hid behind a suit of armor.
The voices gradually grew louder.
Then, two robed figures slowly emerged from the darkness.
One was tall, the other frail.
Hoffa knew them both. They were Dumbledore and Dippet.
As they walked, Dippet asked, "...Albert came?"
Dumbledore said, "Yes. He's gone to see Slughorn now. You know, they were classmates at school."
Dippet fell silent for a moment.
After pondering for a while, Dumbledore asked, "Should I go over there?"
"Go, Albus. I feel your concerns are not unfounded. Protect him.