Click...

click...

click...

the sound of liquid drops from the pipe.

That's an infusion bottle hanging on an iron shelf.

A month later, the dilapidated San Mungo hospital.

Hoffa wakes up from his endless nightmare. The sun shines on his face through the dancing curtains.

He was stunned for a moment, and the light was dazzling.

He raised his hand, trying to block the sun.

But the sunlight passed through his thin white fingers and fell on his face.

There are catheters and needles attached to the hands.

He looked sideways.

On his other side, fatil drassez was lying on the bed.

Coma, eyes closed, can't see clearly.

Hoffa pulled the catheter off his hand and stood up from the bed.

The cold and hard tiles on the ground gave him a real touch.

He walked slowly out of the door, hobbling slightly at first, supporting the wall. But slowly, he stopped supporting the wall.

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

Walk out the door of the hospital.

The sun is dazzling and cloudless.

He saw many people waiting for him at the door, including Miranda, Dumbledore, Slughorn, his classmates at Hogwarts, William, Antonio, and many other students.

Their expression is either expectation, expectation, worry or silence. But without exception, they are so far away from themselves.

They seem to be saying something.

The voice is misty.

Hoffa took a look at the men, turned his head, disappeared into the air, made no stop, and walked straight out of the hospital.

The streets of London are full of waste.

Some executive staff of the Ministry of magic are waving magic wands to repair the buildings damaged by the crazy war. Meanwhile, another group of employees of the Department of Magic who prohibit the abuse of magic are working tirelessly to modify the memory of Muggles.

Along the Thames, people crowded around the half bombed Big Ben and some other buildings. With these ruins pointing, they talked bitterly about Germany's crazy bombing of London.

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

"One hundred or two hundred?"

"Oh, the whole sky was burning that day."

"It was terrible... I remember having a nightmare that day."

"Well, I had a nightmare, too."

"Well, what nightmare did you have?"

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

"Well, I've had similar dreams."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Ha ha ha..."

the passers-by were talking when suddenly their eyes were attracted by a figure coming in the distance.

The figure, with gray hair and golden eyes, looked like a teenager. The strangest thing is that he's all dressed up.

He was wearing a blue and white striped hospital uniform.

Barefoot.

It's like running away from a mental hospital.

The crowd looked at the young man who was wandering in the street like a ghost with surprised eyes.

They whispered, "who is that man?"

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

"it's like a madman..."

"leave him alone, stay away from him."

All of them walked in the opposite direction to Hoffa. He was alone in the crowd. He turned a deaf ear to the voices and comments around him and walked the road under his feet.

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

Remove the wooden beam at the door.

Along the red carpet scattered on the ground, Hoffa walked in the empty theater, fingers slowly across the dusty props.

The black robe, the rusty dagger...

the sunlight came in from the skylight of the ceiling and hit him. From beginning to end, there was no change in his expression.

Finally, he went to the auditorium, opened a chair and sat down. He just looks at the empty stage, imagines the drama that may happen, imagines his failed life, imagines the words that he never said.

He didn't move until the sun set.

He didn't move until the moon covered the earth.

Until the dawn broke through the darkness, he did not change a bit, just looked at the stage in silence, like a clay statue, as if he could sit here until he was old.

At this time.Someone patted him on the shoulder.

The teenager turns away

the early morning sunshine passes through his hair

he gently raises his head

his eyes are full of hope.

But there was no one around.

Only Dindal's spot shone on his shoulder through the broken roof.

The light in his eyes was a little dim. After thinking about it, he stood up and finally took a look at the stage and turned away.

Then, following some unknown guides, he went to the sunny exit, through the cable winding alleys, through the ruins of the city, through the green bud growing grass, through the growth of all things in the forest.

Finally, he came to a hillside.

On the hillside, there are lots of white roses.

Far from the hillside, an unknown funeral is being held.

Some black Vernon carriages stopped in the distance, and some people with white flowers on their chests stepped down from the carriages. They followed, their faces blurred, and they seemed to be crying.

Hoffa stood under the oak trees, watching the crowd coming and going on the hillside in the distance, silent as a sculpture.

The breeze blows, the leaves fly, the clothes flutter.

From beginning to end, he didn't get close to the place.

Just look at the distance.

Watch them pray, offer flowers, give a message.

Or do some other activities.

Until the people in the distance get back on the chariot and disappear at the end of the road.

Finally, he pursed his mouth and his eyes turned red. But he abruptly stopped the impulse, although his heart tsunami like crazy fluctuations, but the face did not show the slightest.

At this moment, he realized some incredible absurdity, but under this absurdity, he also realized a kind of reality.

It's a kind of simplicity.

But pure emotion.

This emotion made him understand the meaning of life.

He should be alive. He should be alive with all his strength.

To live with the cracks that the world gives life to, to smooth the wounds of the soul with the damaged palm, to meet the hope stubbornly, to embrace the light of the moment, to no longer place hope on the empty Utopia, to be uplifting, because survival itself is the most powerful resistance to the world.

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

Resolutely turned to the distance.

He walked barefoot, dressed in simple clothes, through the dancing shadows of trees, through the steep woodland of the isolated mountain, through the shadows of the leaves in the brilliant spring.

The thin figure pulled the elder long in the woods.

Depressed and determined, lonely and stubborn.