Harry Potter: I Am a Legend

For a long time after that, Hoffa did not appear in front of anyone again, and after a friendly parting from Miller in London, he took Aglaia and disappeared in the UK without a trace.

After their first day together, life fell into a simple travel mode. They had breakfast at the street market. The cement table of the stall was polished as smooth as polished marble. After the meal, they read the newspaper at the stall. In the intersection of sweet orange and light tea, the sun was very warm.

They went to the beach in the morning to swim and play in the water together, until the sun drove them back to the cool room of the hotel isolated from the outside world, and they fell asleep under the slowly rotating wooden ceiling fans.

In the afternoon they explore the maze of numerous narrow streets behind the city avenue, or go hiking in the mountains. Lying on the beach at sunset, calling each other's names. At night, they ate dinner in a restaurant facing the beach, and drank in the courtyard of the White Wall Hotel, with moonlight wrapping around the edge of the waves.

Sometimes Hoffa would speak, a long story without the subject, nagging like an old woman. But Aglaia said very little, she always hugged him and listened to him. But Hoffa had learned to cherish the few words she uttered.

There are fewer and fewer people in the world who can talk. Many times, those foreign cities seem to be asleep. Although they are still operating as usual, sometimes they will not encounter a person who can talk for a day.

The whole world seemed to be quiet as if there were only two of them who could talk.

But there is nothing wrong with it.

They sat in the empty concert hall of Vienna, looked at the stage where there was no performance, tried every musical instrument that they had seen or hadn't seen, and used them to make all kinds of noises.

They go to the Louvre in France, and Aglaia will paint two turtles on the marble chest of the broken arm Venus, and put the head of the Sphinx statue on the head of the statue of Victory, or give it to Mona Draw a few circles on Lisa's face.

One afternoon, he took a camera and took her to the largest clothing center in Milan, Italy. He watched her change every piece of clothing in the window, literary, intellectual, pure, sexy, fashionable, retro... one after another. Changed one by one, and Hoffa also shot one by one, shooting an entire album.

In the end they washed them out in an underground printing studio in Berlin, but did not take them away.

One week passed, then another week, and then another week... They traveled all over Europe and finally returned to the UK.

One morning, Hoffa suggested going for a walk.

So they walked along the Thames to near the subway line, where there is a coffee shop that runs from night to now.

Several capitalized words spelled out in childlike handwriting with shells on the concrete arches of the coffee shop-Romanticism

"romanticism..."

Aglaia looked at the coffee shop's sign and suddenly smiled and asked, "Do you have coffee?"

"Okay."

Hoffa nodded and took Aglaia's arm into the cafe.

In the early morning coffee shop, the cashier was quietly cleaning the white porcelain cups, and the radio under the spider plant played quiet music with only three degrees. The song was familiar to Hoffa, but could not be named, but he didn’t care. Up.

Aglaia offered Hoffa a position by the window, sat down, put his hand in his hand, and asked concerned: "You almost drank a bottle of horseshoe agave last night. Yes. What's up there?"

Hoffa nodded. Her hand was in his hand, warm and dry. He looked at the palm of her hand, and the pink glaze on the nail was as transparent as glass.

"Can you talk to me?"

Aglaia held the back of his hand with his palm down.

At this time, the waiter brought the menu and interrupted Aglaia's inquiry.

Aglaia released her hand and looked down at the menu. The morning sun shone into the cafe from between the hardwood panes, coating her slender arms with a few golds.

Hoffa looked at the girl across the table without blinking. The various faces he saw during his adventures in the world seemed to be the logo of God.

The faces of those men and women were the same and lonely, and they faced nothingness naked in front of him, meaningless. But this face is different.

He can clearly feel what meaning he has in contact with him.

Meaning, name, and identity.

After Aglaia ordered coffee.

Hoffa sat up slowly, and said seriously, "Aglaia, let me tell you a story."

"You still learn to tell stories?"

The silver-haired girl put her cheek on her cheek, and touched his chest with her finger.

Hoffa pointed to his head with a smile, "It's here, don't you listen."

"Okay, tell me. What story?"

The silver-haired girl looked at him with her cheek supported, as if she couldn't see enough.

Hoffa tilted his head and thought: "I think, this story is called—The Arrow of Time."

"The Arrow of Time?"

Aglaia was curious: "What is that?"

"The Arrow of Time..."

Hoffa turned his head, fiddled with the cup in front of him, and looked out the window. The coffee shop's wooden shutters were not glazed, and they were strung together with green plastic rope. Looking out from between the hardwood slats, there are dry fountains, flower-like tiles and a Volkswagen Mini Beetle in the early morning sun.

"A long, long time ago, when I was still in Paris, one day, I felt that someone was looking at me behind my back..."

Sitting in the coffee shop, he slowly narrated his adventures through time and space-whether it was his confusion to sell arms, or he met a magical nun, or a crazy dream, a cold-blooded officer, a blood-sucking city , And her father who fell into the abyss and couldn't extricate herself, and the terrifying opponent in the dark.

The sun gradually rose, the sky was clouded and misty, and the shadows of the two people gradually elongated.

Huo's temperament didn't have many ups and downs. Aglea remained calm at the beginning, but gradually, she was attracted by the story, and finally she couldn't cry.

After Hoffa finished speaking slowly, he took a sip of the coffee on the table and waited quietly.

"Is the past unchangeable?" she asked in a choked voice.

"Sorry, Aglaia, I can't save Fatir, his soul was swallowed by mistletoe." Hoffa said lightly.

"I don't blame you," Aglaia covered her face and sobbed, "I just... I just can't help you."

Hoffa stretched out his hand and took her palm. He didn't let go, nor did he speak to comfort him. He just sat peacefully, like a statue of a Buddha. When she was choked up, he narrated smoothly again.

He talked about the relentless time flare, about the death of old Hoffa. Talking about the cooperation with Voldemort, about my compromise, about Grindelwald’s plan, about my destiny at Hogwarts, about my 6,000 reincarnations in the underworld, about Barty and his son His death speaks of his own resistance to fate.

Until outside the window of the cafe, a subway rumbling came, Hoffa kept silent, and the story came to an abrupt end.

After listening to the second half of the story, Aglaia wiped his eyes and couldn't help showing an exhilarating smile. "You haven't told me the end of this story yet?"

"Then leave it to others to guess."

Hoffa stretched and stood up: "However, I think this story is not over yet."

Aglaia stared at Hoffa who stood up blankly, paid attention to the coming subway in the distance, and immediately understood everything. She lost all her blood, all those beautiful, sweet, and gentle things with a sullen expression. Passing away like bubbles, her voice trembled slightly.

"You brought... you brought me here. Are you planning... planning to say goodbye to me...?"

"what."

Hoffa sighed lightly, as if spit out his own soul, "Yes."

"Go back in time? Fifty years ago?

"Yes."

Hoffa shrugged, swiped his fingertips across the table, and smiled: "I have a few small problems left. Stay in the past and wait for me to solve them."

Aglaia clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was very desolate, "But do you know your definite destiny? What if you don't come back? If your life stays forever in these fifty years What will it do?"

Hoffa said calmly, the answer he had already thought of: "That's like a normal person, go on living. Eat, study, sleep."

"What about us, what about us?"

Aglaia held the table in despair and stood up, "Are you tired of it?"

Hoffa shook his head: "I love you, Aglaia, more than anyone else."

"why?"

She stood up abruptly and hugged Hoffa, her palms clasping his waist tightly like steel bars.

"Why can't you stay in this time and space!? We are together, shopping together, eating ice cream together, watching movies together, and doing very happy things together." She said, she was choked up: "Why It must be you, can you let others go?"

Hoffa wiped her tears lovingly, there was not much expression on her face, only the sunlight was flowing in his obsidian eye pupils, like a milky way.

"When I was in third grade, I asked you what life is. I didn't understand anything at that time, but now I understand. Life is a game for the brave, and a sorrow for the cowardly.

There are too many original sins in this world. Humans have too many original sins, ugliness, poverty, loneliness, inadequacy, death. How much courage is needed to face this cold original sin, maybe few people can do it, but I think I can, because This is the meaning of my existence. "

"Then take me along."

Aglaia grabbed his arm, fingers almost sinking into his flesh.

Hoffa shook his head: "I can't do it, can you understand me."

"I can understand you, but I can't accept it. If so, why do you need to save me, why go to the underworld to find me. Why should you leave me in an empty and strange time and space."

"There are so many beautiful things..."

"Don't reason with me, I only want you."

"I'm here, always there."

"Will you come back?"

"meeting."

"Can you guarantee it?"

Looking at her red eyes, Hoffa thought of the past, of the future, of his former self, of his mysterious smile, of the past, of the strange life, of the future, of the unpredictable destiny.

Finally, he lowered his head and kissed Aglaia's lips.

"I promise."

Aglaia burst into laughter, and took Hoffa's neck and hugged him.

Driving towards the unknown subway from far to near, stopped briefly.

Hoffa let go of the girl in his arms and the car door opened in front of him. Hoffa, like an ordinary office worker, walked into the crowd and became one with them.

Before the car door closed, he looked back for the last time, and saw Aglaia standing at the station, waving at himself with tears, her waist-length silver hair floating in the air, bleached by the sun, as they did when they first met.

And he waved at her calmly.

The door closed and the subway moved.

The carriage shook, and people around him went up and down, coming and going from Hoffa's side. He found a position by the window.

When the subway entered the underground, it fell into darkness, only occasionally one or two bright lights, or street signs waiting to be repaired, the black lacquered glass reflected his own face, facing each other. Before he could see his appearance clearly, the darkness had disappeared again, giving him endless brilliant sunshine.

On the wide and flat asphalt road, a red double-decker bus galloped past, pedestrians chatted leisurely, colorful balloons flying in the air, bright and beautiful brand-name shops on the side of the road, teenagers slid down the steps on a skateboard, Lovers are kissing in the street.

The scenery outside the window is engraved on Hoffa's face through the subway window, whether it is a deep and dark underground corridor or a sunny city city park. He watched silently.

Before he knew it, he had quietly wept.

Those violent and surging emotions turned into relief, and the unforgettable loneliness turned into affection. He knew that it was the calmness to face fate alone, and that was the most extreme romance given to him by God.

"Why are you crying?"

There was a soft and curious question beside him. It was a ignorant little boy who handed Hoffa a piece of paper.

"Because I am very happy."

Hoffa took the paper choked up.

"Why are you crying when you are happy?" the little boy asked him.

"How about being happy?"

"If you are happy, laugh." The little boy comforted him.

"Is it."

Hoffa wiped away his tears and smiled, "Take me away."

When the train arrived at the station, countless men and women in well-dressed and briefcases flocked to the subway and entered the subway. Some of them have numb expressions and some have empty eyes, like sleepwalking.

But there was a teenager and a middle-aged man who seemed out of place with the people around them.

The boy has messy hair, round glasses, and a lightning-like scar on his forehead. He looks a little sad and uneasy. The middle-aged man, wearing thin pants and an old short jacket, touched the ring on the subway curiously.

"Mr. Weasley, if convicted, will I be imprisoned in Azkaban?" the teenager with glasses asked uneasyly.

"What are you thinking?" The middle-aged man couldn't help but smile. "How can the wizarding society be so lawless."

"Then what will be the worst result?"

"Well, it may be expelled from Hogwarts. This is the worst outcome." Arthur Weasley thought for a while and comforted: "Don't worry, it will definitely not happen..."

Harry couldn't help but turn his head. Arthur's words did not comfort him. It was the Ministry of Magic's trial. Several people have experienced it, and several people can really carry it down. He doesn't think Arthur can really understand it. My current mood.

But at this time, in the crowd, Harry felt that someone was looking at him again, and he turned his head. Seeing the older boy with his head leaning on the corner glass, in the sun, the boy nodded at him and smiled, quiet and easy-going.

Harry was stunned. The teenager looked ordinary, but his smile seemed to have a peculiar healing power, which made those who saw it couldn't help but feel good. Those bright black eyes are like flying birds across the sky-free and unbridled. It seems that just looking at him, the subsequent trial has become less terrible.

"Mr. Weasley, look."

Harry pulled the clothes of the middle-aged man beside him, wanting him to take a look at the strange boy.

But when he looked again, the seat was empty. That peculiar boy has disappeared.

(End of Arrow of Time)