Time flows like a rushing river.
A month passed—no eating, no drinking, no relief.
Two months—no eating, no drinking, no relief, and no thoughts.
Three months.
Four months.
Half a year.
A year.
Two years.
Eventually, he lost all sense of time. After an indeterminate period of confinement, trapped in darkness, Hoffa no longer muttered to himself or paced restlessly.
Yet, within his mind, it was as if a grand hall had opened.
Countless versions of himself wandered about—some offering suggestions, some cracking jokes, others singing, contemplating, or locked in fiery arguments.
In the bleak and empty room, with its vague outlines and echoes of distant prisoner conversations, everything felt so alien, so hostile, so meaningless. Hoffa loathed this world deeply. Yet, what he hated most was himself—the turmoil within him surged violently, ripping at his sanity. Outwardly, however, he remained motionless.
Why bother enduring this burden of misery? Why struggle to survive? Hoffa felt an overwhelming desire to obliterate himself, to cease existing, far surpassing the instinct to cling to life.
He chuckled foolishly but, at the same time, observed his own foolish smile with cold indifference.
At that moment, faint footsteps reached his ears. These steps were not aimless—they had a purpose.
Hoffa's silly smile gradually faded, replaced by a cold and sharp expression.
In his mental hall, every version of Hoffa stopped what they were doing, raised their heads, and stared warily in the direction of the sound.
The footsteps grew louder.
Finally, they stopped outside Hoffa's cell.
Hoffa's foolish smile returned.
The next moment—
Bang!
The iron door of the confinement cell was slammed open, revealing two figures standing in the light.
The wide-open door let in a blinding brightness that made Hoffa cover his eyes and scream in pain. Accustomed to darkness, the light felt like fire scorching his eyes.
A tall figure quickly approached, bending down to pick Hoffa up. Holding him tightly, the man gently stroked his head.
This man, dressed in a deep blue-purple robe with reddish-brown beard and hair, wore an expression of both anger and anguish—it was Albus Dumbledore.
All the delusions in Hoffa's mind vanished in that instant. Trembling and quivering, he covered his eyes, unable to describe the flood of emotions he felt at that moment.
There was hope and a profound sense of gratitude, yet beneath it all churned a massive wave of anger and resentment.
Dumbledore turned back, furious.
"Vincent, is this your idea of justice? Locking an innocent student in a shadow cell?"
The man standing at the door shrugged. "He's not entirely blameless. From what I know, he once attacked an innocent senior official at St. Mungo's Hospital."
"And that justifies using a room meant for Dark Wizards?"
"Albus, diamonds need polishing to shine. Since he's your student, a little rough treatment doesn't hurt. Ha!"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he helped Hoffa stand. His imposing presence grew stronger with each step toward Vincent. The warden's two guards stepped forward to block Dumbledore's path.
For about two seconds, they locked eyes in a tense standoff. Finally, Dumbledore cast a warning glance at the warden before supporting Hoffa and leading him past Vincent and the guards, ascending the stairs.
Hoffa roughly understood what had happened—Dumbledore had come for him. His confinement was over. He was free. Yet he felt no joy or relief.
Instead, molten anger and defiance boiled within him like pure magma, searing his heart. None of this was what he deserved.
As Dumbledore guided him across a narrow bridge, the prisoners continued to howl and make beast-like noises.
"Where are you going, little rabbit?"
"Leaving already?"
"Take me with you!"
"Can't you save anyone else?"
"Help me, save me! Ha-ha-ha!"
The cacophony of voices hit Hoffa like drills piercing his eardrums, fueling the turmoil in his heart.
As they passed a cell filled with vulgar curses, a hand shot out, grabbing Hoffa's clothing to stop him.
Hoffa stopped in his tracks.
Before Dumbledore could react, Hoffa seized the prisoner's arm and smashed it downward with all his might.
Crack!
A crisp sound echoed as the prisoner's arm broke at a right angle.
Before the prisoner could scream, Hoffa yanked him forward, dragging the fractured arm through the bars.
Fueled by a lava-like frenzy, Hoffa opened his mouth and bit down on the prisoner's face, tearing off his nose on the spot.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The prisoner screamed in agony.
With blood dripping from his mouth, Hoffa laughed maniacally, his eyes alight with a madness beyond description.
Dumbledore rushed forward, pulling Hoffa away. He practically dragged the feral Hoffa, still seething with wild, animalistic energy, out of Azkaban.
One Hour Later
In an underground restaurant in London, England—
The dim room was warmed by a crackling fireplace. Shelves, cabinets, and storage boxes were neatly arranged. The stone ceiling arched over several rounded white rooms.
Inside one of the arched rooms, bottles and jars lined the shelves. On a few small, mobile tables lay bandages and surgical tools. At the center of the room stood a large iron bed, illuminated by magical light. The soft glow made everything appear harmonious.
Under the light, Hoffa sat on a sofa, clutching his arms and wrapped in a blanket. His eyes were vacant.
The flames of the fireplace cast a flickering light on his pale face, giving it a faint trace of life.
Behind him came a soft clinking sound. Albus Dumbledore, waving his wand, let tea leaves float into a cup, scattering gently like stars.
He poured hot water from a teapot, releasing a fragrant aroma.
Then, his tall figure blocked the firelight as he approached Hoffa, extending a cup of warm tea. Hoffa stared blankly for about thirty seconds before mechanically reaching out to hold the cup in his hands.
"This is a safe house run by a friend of mine, primarily for refugees seeking asylum. It's very secure."
Dumbledore sat down in front of Hoffa as he spoke.
"Are you feeling any better?"
Hoffa didn't feel even a bit better, but he still nodded out of habit.
"Do you remember the first time we met at Wool's Orphanage?" Dumbledore asked, his voice distant and ethereal, as if it came from the heavens.
"Back then, you were just a little kid, clueless about the world but kind-hearted."
Hoffa absentmindedly nodded. His mind was in a blank state, as if emptied out after boiling over, unable to process much.
"I know everything about what happened to you."
Dumbledore's tone suddenly shifted, becoming sharp. "You should have been more cautious."
It took Hoffa a moment to realize what Dumbledore was referring to as he stared at the steaming green tea in his cup.
In the swirling steam, Hoffa's golden eyes reflected back at him. In a daze, the tea seemed to ripple with a drop of colorful ink spreading across it, eventually forming the faint image of a face.
A pat on his shoulder brought him back.
The faint illusion disappeared, and Hoffa raised his head to find Dumbledore staring intently at him without blinking.
"Are you listening?"
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Hoffa put down the teacup.
Dumbledore sighed. "Hoffa, this time I was able to get you out, but that doesn't mean it'll be the same every time."
Hoffa started to respond, "I—"
Dumbledore interrupted, "You need to be mindful of your actions. You're no longer just a student from an orphanage with nothing to your name. Everything you do now represents Ravenclaw and Hogwarts."
Hoffa took a sip of his tea, quietly absorbing the words, and gave a small nod.
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned some luggage and magical books from thin air. They landed neatly on the coffee table in front of Hoffa.
"I retrieved your belongings from St. Mungo's. Stay here for a while to rest and recover."
"How long has it been?" Hoffa croaked.
He felt like he had been locked in that dark room for years. Maybe he had already missed his third year. Maybe the Second World War was over. Maybe he had missed so much.
But Dumbledore's gaze was filled with a sympathetic kindness.
"Hoffa, you were only in there for a day."
Hoffa's hand trembled as he looked up, shocked.
"The time in a solitary confinement cell like that doesn't flow the same as in the real world. The moment I heard about your situation, I came immediately, but I couldn't prevent you from being locked inside."
Dumbledore paused, then added, "The summer break isn't over yet, but your new school year is just around the corner. Stay strong."
He gave a knowing wink before disappearing through the doorway.
Once Dumbledore left, Hoffa sat in a stupor for a long while. He looked down at his hands, his vision hazy.
Only a day.Only a day.
Then, as if all the strength had been drained from his body, he collapsed onto the sofa. The ticking of a clock and the crackling of the fireplace grew faint in his ears.
Only a day.
It had felt like ten years or more.
In that moment, he felt himself slipping away from the real world again. Whispers, vague and indistinct, seemed to hum in his mind:
"We are unprecedented."
"We transcend time."
He closed his eyes, feeling a force, as relentless as gravity, pulling him back toward solitude.
Yet, amidst it all, a flicker of hope ignited within his chest. This small flame warmed him, filling him with a rare sense of purpose and anticipation.
This newfound sense of existence drove away the chaotic murmurs in his ears, compelling him to pull himself together.
Determined to let go of the cold bitterness of his time in prison, he forced himself to stand. Quickly and methodically, he began organizing the books and clothes scattered before him.
At this moment, one thought dominated his mind: I must return to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts, I will not be alone.
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09