Since mid-June, when Hoffa agreed to intern at St. Mungo's Hospital for the summer break, nearly a month had passed.
The hospital assigned him a room in an old dormitory building within St. Mungo's. Beneath a massive sloped tile roof, hundreds of identical rooms were arranged along an octagonal-shaped corridor.
The room had narrow, high windows and was a shared space with wooden floors that creaked underfoot. The brick floor below was uneven, and even during the day, the hallways were dimly lit. The deep, shadowy corridors of the hospital's staff dormitory gave Hoffa the feeling of exploring a cave every time he returned.
Occasionally, nurses living there would step out with a kettle to fetch water or brush their teeth. Dressed casually for summer, their bare thighs glimmered in the dim light like smooth white porcelain, stirring a wandering imagination.
But without exception, whenever those nurses spotted the golden eyes and slender figure emerging from the corridor, they would retreat like frightened rabbits, scurrying back into their rooms. It seemed his presence exuded a "keep away" aura.
Hoffa didn't intentionally distance himself from his neighbors; he was simply too drained from Aglaia's antics to engage.
Opening the door, he groped his way to the bed in the darkness.
After a moment, his eyes adjusted, and the outlines of the room gradually became clear. The hospital lights outside cast faint orange streaks across the ceiling.
The square room was simply furnished with a wooden desk, a white-painted wardrobe, and walls adorned with anatomical charts and fire safety spell posters.
He let out a quiet sigh and sprawled across the bed.
The noise and chaos of the theater began to fade. The chirping of insects filtered in, even through the soundproofing spells cast by wizards. In the background, the faint echo of air-raid sirens persisted.
The air was permeated with the distinctive scent of formalin—a smell he knew well. At the far end of this dormitory block, separated from the rest, were the hospital's dissection rooms.
Those rooms housed three massive corpse pools, containing dozens of bodies: soldiers shot by Muggle armies, wizards killed by dark curses—men and women of all ages and identities. Deformed stillborn infants and preserved organs floated in large jars displayed on shelves.
Driven by curiosity, Hoffa had explored those rooms briefly before being chased out. This was neither a peaceful place nor a peaceful era.
It was 1940, and London was engulfed in the throes of war.
With no mobile phones in this era, Hoffa didn't have much else to occupy his time. After resting briefly, he realized he wasn't sleepy and decided to sit at his desk.
Scattered on the desk were numerous newspapers—recent issues of The Daily Prophet. Most of the headlines were about the war.
He flipped through them. Gringotts declared bankruptcy. Diagon Alley was closed.
On the front page of another section, one headline stood out prominently:
"North Sea Shipwreck: Dark Wizard Plunders and Murders."
Below the headline was an image of a bearded man holding a suitcase, his eyes filled with resentment, desire, and fire.
**"Dark wizard Norbert Hegg recently raided and looted the RMS Mary of the Far East near the Azkaban seas, causing five deaths and injuring ten.
The Wizengamot and Azkaban have issued a joint warrant for his arrest, dead or alive."**
"Robbing near Azkaban? That guy's got guts," Hoffa muttered, flipping to another page with no expression.
This page was dedicated to job ads:
"Alchemy Gunsmith Assembly Recruitment."
"International Dragon Conservation Association Hiring."
"Domestic Workers, Immigration Services, All-in-One Package."
After skimming the newspaper and feeling bored, Hoffa set it aside and headed to the hallway bathroom. Grabbing toothpaste, he began brushing his teeth, absently gazing into the dirty mirror under the dim hallway lights.
The boy in the reflection had grown taller since last year. His upper body was marked with scars and lean muscle. At thirteen, he had short gray-white hair, pale golden irises, and a silver earring on one ear.
Listlessly brushing his teeth, his thoughts wandered.
Gringotts was shut down. Diagon Alley was inaccessible. Despite being at St. Mungo's for a month, he had only explored about 20% of the hospital. The place was enormous—he hadn't even fully explored the dormitory, with its hundreds of rooms.
He hadn't discovered any new magical secrets this summer. Each day, he felt bogged down by trivial matters.
This left Hoffa deeply disappointed. What frustrated him more was that he couldn't express this disappointment to anyone.
"Maybe I should just quit," he murmured to himself in the mirror. "Go do what I want."
"You can quit," the reflection replied. "Do what makes you happy. You're the most important."
"That doesn't feel right," Hoffa muttered, toothbrush still in his mouth. "I already gave my word."
"So what? You can always change your mind," the reflection urged. "Yourself first."
"That doesn't seem fair…"
Hoffa said, "Going back on my word isn't my style."
"What is your style?"
The person in the mirror asked.
"What is my style?"
Hoffa paused, toothbrush in hand, his mouth frozen mid-brush. It seemed like the question from the reflection had caught him off guard. "I suppose I'm…"
Clang!Clatter!
The sound of metal hitting the floor snapped Hoffa out of his thoughts. He turned his head sharply to see a metal kettle lid roll to a stop at his feet. It turned out that a nurse from the next room had accidentally dropped her kettle while fetching water.
She was crouching hurriedly to clean up the mess. She had red curly hair, wore slippers, and her oversized shirt barely covered her pink shorts, giving off a somewhat suggestive vibe.
Sensing Hoffa's gaze, she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing small earlobes and a neck speckled with faint freckles.
Instinctively, Hoffa moved to help her pick up the kettle, but their fingers brushed against each other. The nurse looked at him in alarm, pulling her hand back as if she had been electrocuted.
From her perspective, the boy brushing his teeth was undeniably attractive, exuding a mysterious and profound aura. But those golden eyes—like blazing fire—pierced straight into her soul with just a glance, making her heart tremble and causing a sharp pang of discomfort.
She didn't like that feeling. It made her feel insignificant, as though she were being completely exposed, body and soul, under his gaze.
"I'm sorry," she quickly retracted her hand and apologized.
"It's fine," Hoffa replied, lowering his eyes. He knew his eyes were peculiar, and few people were willing to meet his gaze. Silently, he put the kettle back together and handed it to her.
As soon as he looked away, the nurse seemed to breathe easier. She took the kettle but couldn't help asking curiously, "Who were you talking to just now?"
"Me?"
Hoffa was momentarily stunned. He glanced back at the mirror, where his reflection was also staring at him with a perplexed expression.
Scratching his head, he gave a wry smile. He really was losing it—talking to himself in the mirror out of boredom. But this wasn't the first time. Ever since last year's events, he often felt a vague sense of loneliness. Sometimes he missed his wand; other times, it was just the emptiness gnawing at him.
"It's nothing. I was just talking to myself," Hoffa said reassuringly. "You should head back soon."
After speaking, he turned on the faucet and began splashing water on his face, deliberately avoiding further interaction.
The nurse murmured an "oh" and turned to fill her kettle at another sink.
Perhaps it was Hoffa's calm demeanor that eased her tension, or maybe she was just idly curious while fetching water. Either way, she began observing the boy beside her more closely.
Despite his slightly immature face and modest height, his body resembled a Greek sculpture—lean and muscular, without an ounce of excess fat. Several thin scars marked his skin, but instead of detracting from his appearance, they added a mature, rugged charm.
She noticed his gray hair and the silver earring on his ear.
Under the cold running water, without any mist to obscure him, the dim light accentuated the way water trickled down his body. A droplet slid from his earring to his neck, then down to his slightly prominent Adam's apple, giving this enigmatic boy an unusual allure.
For a moment, the nurse couldn't look away. Twisting her leg uncomfortably, she realized she was staring. This boy was more mysterious and captivating than anyone she'd ever met. If they were animals, he would undoubtedly be the leader of the pack.
Taking a deep breath, the nurse didn't even notice that her kettle had overflowed. She thought to herself that a cigarette would be nice right about now. Taking another slow breath, she felt her heart racing.
Meanwhile, Hoffa finished splashing water on his face and turned to her with a curious look. "What's wrong?"
The sudden movement brought her back to reality, and once again, she felt the sharp intensity of his golden eyes. Embarrassed, she quickly looked away.
"Nothing," she replied hurriedly, grabbing the kettle and preparing to leave.
After taking a step, she hesitated. Turning back, she asked tentatively, "Uh… I live in 117A. Would you like to come over for tea?"
Hoffa, who was rinsing his head under the faucet, paused and glanced at her, slightly surprised. With a faint smile, he replied, "Oh, no, thank you. I'm about to rest. Maybe another time."
"Oh, okay," she mumbled, nodding stiffly.
Then she turned and disappeared down the hallway.
After she left, Hoffa stood in the now-empty corridor and lifted his head.
The figure in the mirror grinned. "Tea? Now that's amusing."
(End of Chapter)
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