Harry Potter: I Am a Legend

Tick

Tick

Tick

The sound of liquid dripped from the pipe.

That is the infusion** hanging on the iron rack.

A month later, the dilapidated St. Mungo Hospital.

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

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

He raised 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 the hand.

He looked sideways.

On the other side of him, Fatiel De Lasse was lying on the hospital bed.

He was in a coma, closed his eyes tightly, and couldn't 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 outside the door, staggering slightly at first, leaning on the wall. But slowly, he stopped supporting the wall.

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

Go out of the hospital door.

The sun is dazzling, and there is no cloud.

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

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

What they seem to be talking about.

The voice 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, a hundred wastes are waiting to be revived.

Some Ministry of Magic executives wielded their magic wands, repairing buildings that were damaged by the crazy war, and at the same time, another group of employees who forbid the misuse of the Department of Magic are working tirelessly to modify Muggles' memories.

Along the Thames, crowds were bustling around Big Ben, which was half destroyed by the bombing, and some other buildings. With these ruins pointing at them, they were talking about the crazy bombing of London by Germany.

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

"One hundred or two hundred?"

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

"It's terrible, I remember, I had a nightmare that day."

"Really, I also had a nightmare."

"Hey, what nightmare did you have."

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

"Hey, I have had a similar dream."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Hahaha"

The passers-by were talking, and suddenly their eyes were attracted by a figure walking in the distance.

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

He was wearing a blue and white striped medical gown.

Bare feet.

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

The crowd looked at this young man wandering on the street like a lonely ghost with surprised eyes.

They whispered: "Who is that person."

"How to wear this kind of clothes"

"It seems like a lunatic"

"Leave him alone, stay away from him."

Everyone walked in the opposite direction of Hoffa, who was alone in the bustling flow of people. 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 had been burned in half.

Remove the wooden beam at the door.

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

The black robe, the dull rusty short sword

Sunlight came in from the skylight in 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 did not move until the sun went down.

Until the moonlight enveloped the earth, he still did not move.

He didn't change the slightest until dawn broke through the darkness, but looked at the stage silently, like a clay sculpture, as if he could sit here to be old.

At this time.

Someone patted him on the shoulder.

The teenager turned around

The morning sun passed through the tips of his hair

He raised his head tenderly

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 light in his eyes dimmed slightly. After thinking about it, he stood up, glanced at the stage one last time, and turned to leave.

Afterwards, following some unknown guidance, he walked towards the sun-drenched exit, through the cable-twisted alley, through the ruined city, through the grass growing with green sprouts, and through the woods where everything grows. .

Finally, he came to a hillside.

On the hillside, white roses bloomed in patches.

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

Some black night horse carriages were parked in the distance, and some people wearing white flowers on their chests got out of the carriages. They followed suit, their faces were vague, and they seemed to be crying.

Hoffa stood under the oak tree, watching the crowd coming and going on the distant hillside, silent like a sculpture.

The breeze blows, leaves are flying, clothes swinging.

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

Just look into the distance like this.

Watching them pray, offer flowers, and congratulate.

Or do some other activities.

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

Finally, he pursed his mouth, his eyes reddening uncontrollably. But he abruptly stopped the 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.

It is a kind of simplicity.

But pure emotion.

This emotion made him understand the meaning of life.

He should live, live with all his might.

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

Finally, the boy rubbed his eyes and raised his 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 splendid spring.

The old elder elders with a thin figure pulling among the woods.

Depressed and determined, lonely and stubborn.