Harry Potter – I’m The Legend

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

The sound of liquid drips from the pipe.

That is an infusion bottle hung on an iron rack.

1 month later, the broken St. Mungo's Hospital.

Hoffa wakes up from the endless nightmare, and the sun shines on his face through the flying curtains.

He froze for a moment, the rays of light were a bit dazzling.

He lifted his palm, trying to block the sun.

But the sun shines through his thin white fingers on his face.

There are some catheters and needles attached to my hand.

He turned his head to look.

On the other side of him, Fatir De La Setis is lying on the hospital bed.

Unconscious, closing his eyes tightly, unable to see his appearance.

Hoffa pulled off the catheter in his hand and got up from the hospital bed.

The cold and hard tiles on the ground gave him a real touch when he was barefoot.

He walked slowly to the door, at first staggering slightly, holding on to the wall. But slowly, he stopped supporting the wall.

Some hospital nurses saw Hoffa and tried to pull him, but he pushed him away slowly and firmly.

Go out of the hospital gate.

The sun is dazzling and cloudless.

He saw a lot of people waiting for him at the door, including Miranda, Dumbledore, Slughorn, his own students at Hogwarts, William, Anthony O, and many, many other students.

Their expressions are either anticipating, expecting, worried, or silent. But without exception, they are so far away from themselves.

What they seem to be talking about.

The sound is misty.

Hoffa glanced at the people, turned his head, disappeared into the air, did not make any stops, and walked straight out of the hospital.

On the streets of London, there is a lot of waste waiting to be revived.

Some Ministry of Magic executives are waving wand, repairing buildings damaged by the crazy war, and at the same time, there is another group of Improper Use of Magic Office employees who are tirelessly complaining to muggle The work of revising the memory is being carried out.

Along the Thames, the crowds were bustling around Big Ben, which was half destroyed by the bombing, and some other buildings. With these ruins pointing fingers, they talked sadly about Germany’s attitude towards London. Crazy bombing.

"Hey, how many planes did you see flying from the sky that day?"

"One hundred, or two hundred?"

" Oh, the whole sky seemed to burn that day."

"It was terrifying...I remember, I had a nightmare that day."

"Is it true?" , I also had a nightmare."

"Hey, what nightmare did you have."

"In a dream, I was turned into an animal by a dragon."

p>

"Hey, I have had a similar dream."

"Really?"

"Really."

" ha ha ha ......"

Passers-by were talking, and suddenly their eyes were attracted by a silhouette coming from a distance.

The silhouette has gray hair and golden eyes, and looks like a teenager. The most peculiar thing is his outfit.

He is wearing a blue and white striped hospital gown.

Bare feet.

Like a patient who has run away from a mental hospital.

The crowd looked at this youngster, which is like a solitary soul, unbound ghost, dangling on the street with surprised eyes.

They whispered: "Who is that person."

"How to wear this kind of clothes..."

"It seems to be a Madman..."

"Leave him alone, stay away from him."

Everyone walks in the opposite direction of Hoffa, he is alone in the hustle and bustle of people. middle. I turned a deaf ear to the voices and discussions around me, and just walked the path under my own feet.

I don't know how long he walked, he came to a theater that was half burned down.

Remove the wooden beam at the door.

Following the red carpets scattered on the ground, Hoffa walked in the empty theater, slowly sliding his fingers across the dusty props.

The black robe, the dull rusty dagger...

Sunlight came in from the skylight of the ceiling and hit him. From beginning to end, his expression did not change at all.

Finally, he walked to the auditorium, pulled out a chair and sat on it. He just looked at the empty stage, imagined the drama that might happen on it, imagined his failed life, imagined the words that he had never said before.

He didn't move until the sun went down.

He still didn't move until the moonlight enveloped the earth.

Until the dawn broke through the darkness, he did not change in the slightest, but silently looked at the stage, like a clay statue, as if he could sit here to be old.

At this time.

Someone patted him on the shoulder.

The young man turned around

The morning sun passed through the tips of his hair

He gently lifts the head

There was hope in his eyes.

But there is no one around.

Only Tyndall’s light spot shined on his shoulder through the damage of the canopy.

The rays of light in his eyes dimmed a little. After thinking about it, he stood up, glanced at the stage one last time, and left.

Following some unknown guidance, he walked towards the sun-filled exit, through the cable-wound alleys, through the ruins of the city standing in great numbers, and through the green shoots. The growing grass, through the woods where everything grows.

Finally, he came to a hillside.

On the hillside, there are white roses blooming in patches.

In the distance of the hillside, an unknown funeral is being held.

Some black Thestral carriages stopped in the distance, and some people wearing white flowers on their chests got off the car. They followed suit, their faces were vague, and they seemed to be crying.

Hoffa stood under the oak tree, watching the to-and-fro crowd on the hillside in the distance, silent like a sculpture.

The breeze blows, the leaves are flying, and the clothes swings.

From beginning to end, he never got close to that place.

Just look into the distance like this.

Watching them pray, present flowers, and congratulate them.

Or do some other activities.

Until the distant crowd re-entered the Thestral carriage and disappeared at the end of the road.

Finally, he pursed his mouth, his eyes reddening uncontrollably. But he forcibly stopped his impulse, and despite the crazy fluctuations in his heart like a tsunami, there was no sign of it on his face.

At this moment, he perceives a certain incredible absurdity, but under this absurdity, he also realizes a kind of reality.

That is a kind of simplicity.

But pure emotion.

This emotion made him understand the meaning of life.

He should be alive, spare no effort alive.

To live with the life-giving cracks of the world, heal the scars of the soul with the damaged palm, stubbornly meet the hope, embrace the light of the moment, no longer place hope in the empty utopia, inspire high spirits , Because survival itself is the most powerful resistance to the world.

Finally, the boy rubbed his eyes and lifts the head.

Resolutely turned and walked away.

With bare feet and simple clothes, he walked through the shadows of dancing trees, through the steep woodland of this lonely mountain, and through the shadows of the leaves of the splendid spring.

The thin silhouette stretches old Elder from among the trees.

Depressed and determined, lonely and stubborn.