Tom Riddle did not come to trouble Hofa. In fact, after receiving the invitation to Hogwarts, he had become unusually low-key. Hofa, on the other hand, was not foolish enough to seek trouble with him. His daily routine consisted of eating, exercising, and familiarizing himself with the surroundings. After a month, Hofa had pretty much explored all the areas around the orphanage. He had also gained a rough idea of the location of the Leaky Cauldron.
At this moment, Hofa was walking towards the Leaky Cauldron, holding a paper map of London. He was wearing a worker's cap, and the socks inside his Martin boots were dirty. Dressed like a newspaper boy, he blended in with the 1938 London streets, which were not as bustling as they would be in later years. The roads were paved with gray bricks, full of potholes. Old cars with canopies honked as they passed by, emitting black exhaust fumes. Their colors were monotonous, unlike the colorful cars of the future. Many people, unable to find enough food, wandered around with signs looking for work, while some disheartened young men smoked at street corners. These were the lingering effects of the 1929 economic crisis, and the decline of the British Empire after World War I was evident.
At a street corner, Hofa saw a group of workers smoking pipes and pasting posters with glue. As he approached, he realized they were putting up black-and-white recruitment posters for the British royal family. Seeing this poster, Hofa's heart sank. He had forgotten the most crucial thing about this time period—it wasn't from the wizarding world but the Muggle world. World War II was about to begin! Hitler was still alive, and so were a host of other tyrants like Tojo Hideki and Mussolini. Compared to the yet-to-rise dark wizard Voldemort, these figures were real tyrants. The destruction and carnage caused by Voldemort might not even amount to a fraction of what they would unleash. Hofa didn't know much about history, but he did know that World War II would start in 1939, just a year away.
Staring at the poster, Hofa stood frozen in place, holding the map. He felt like crying. Why did he have to be born into such a tumultuous era?
The honking of a car horn snapped Hofa out of his despair. He turned to see an old-fashioned motorcycle approaching—the kind he had only seen in anti-Japanese war dramas, with one person driving and another sitting in the sidecar. Two soldiers in dark green uniforms stopped in front of him. The one smoking in the sidecar leaned out and shouted, "Are you Hofa Bach?"
Hofa was puzzled. He didn't recognize these two soldiers. Did his name just appear on his face? He nodded, "Yes, that's me."
The soldier in the sidecar pulled out a stack of letters from behind him, licked his finger, flipped through them, and handed one to Hofa. "Your letter, kid. Don't lose it." With that, the driver stepped on the pedal, and the motorcycle drove off.
Hofa was astonished. He turned the letter over. It was addressed to Mr. Hofa Bach, 532 meters west of the Leaky Cauldron, Bonington Market Street, London. Just like in the novels, the writing was in emerald-green ink, with no stamp, and it felt like parchment in his hand. Hofa stared at the spot where the soldiers had disappeared, then flipped the letter over again. There was a wax seal with a shield emblem, a capital "H" surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
Well, after Dumbledore had mentioned it that day, he had expected to receive a letter, but he hadn't anticipated it would be delivered like this. He looked up at the sky, utterly baffled. How had they managed to locate him so precisely?
Setting aside his confusion, Hofa eagerly opened the letter. He had fantasized about this moment countless times in his previous life, and now it had become a reality. He couldn't be more excited.
The letter read:
**Headmaster: Armando Dippet (Deputy Head of the International Confederation of Wizards, Royal Honorary Magician, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)**
**Dear Mr. Bach,**
**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by July 31st.**
**Yours sincerely,**
**Deputy Headmaster Adebayo Goshawk**
Hofa read the letter over and over. There was no doubt it was the same as the one in the novels, yet it was also entirely different. From this letter, he gathered three pieces of information: First, his headmaster was not Dumbledore but a man named Armando Dippet. Second, the deputy headmaster was not Minerva McGonagall but a stranger named Adebayo Goshawk. Third, the Muggle world was not entirely separate from the wizarding world—at least within the royal family, some people were aware of the wizarding world's existence. For instance, the two soldiers who had just delivered the letter were likely wizards themselves, or they might have been enchanted. However, after seeing Headmaster Dippet's title of "Royal Honorary Magician," Hofa felt his first speculation was more accurate. It wasn't surprising—those at the top of the world surely had access to more information than ordinary people. Such a large wizarding community couldn't possibly remain completely hidden without the cooperation of Muggle authorities.
Taking mental note of these insights, Hofa pulled out the second page. This one was much more ordinary, listing the required textbooks and equipment for Hogwarts, similar to what he had seen in his previous life. However, as he read through it, Hofa suddenly realized something crucial—he had no money.
Yes, he was truly penniless. He relied entirely on the orphanage for food. He had no inheritance from deceased parents, no idea how to apply for Hogwarts' financial aid, and not even a relative like Uncle Vernon in this world. He couldn't possibly ask the orphanage for money to attend Hogwarts—they were struggling enough as it was, having raised him this far.
Standing on the streets of 1938 London, Hofa felt a cold breeze of reality sweep over him, chilling him to the bone. Even as a time traveler, he felt utterly helpless in this moment.
"Do you have to be like this, fate? Give me hope only to crush it?" Hofa muttered to himself, sighing as he tucked the letter into his pocket. There was no way around it—he had to go to Hogwarts. It had been his childhood dream in his previous life. Even if he had to beg or work odd jobs, he would scrape together the tuition!
Gritting his teeth, Hofa headed towards the Leaky Cauldron. If he had to beg or work, he would do it in the wizarding world, after all, Muggle money couldn't buy wizard Galleons. The only good news was that he now knew the exact location of the Leaky Cauldron from the envelope.
The Leaky Cauldron was nestled between a tailor's shop and an umbrella store. Muggles walked past it, oblivious to its existence. Hofa tucked the map into his pocket and stepped inside. The legendary bar was just as described in the books—dark, shabby, and filled with all sorts of characters. There were wizards drinking, witches smoking, and a few goblin-like creatures playing cards in a corner, with piles of coins on the table. The only difference was that the bartender wasn't as hunched or elderly as he would become. Though his receding hairline hinted at his future baldness, he wasn't completely bald yet.
On the walls of the bar, rows of dark paintings stood out. The figures in the paintings moved. Hofa slowly scanned them and, at the end of the row, he saw a painting of an elderly woman. She wore a wooden hairpin and smoked a pipe, looking like a landlady. She glared at Hofa and exhaled smoke, "What are you looking at, you little pauper?"
Hofa frowned and turned away. Beneath the painting was the inscription: **The Leaky Cauldron—Founded by Daisy Dodderidge (1467-1555).**
Not wanting to argue with a painting, Hofa approached the bar where the young bartender, Tom, was wiping glasses. Tom glanced up briefly as Hofa entered but didn't pay him much attention. Hofa thought of the grand reception Harry Potter had received when he first entered the bar and compared it to his own unnoticed arrival. He sighed—clearly, he didn't have the protagonist's halo.
He glanced longingly at the Galleons in the goblins' hands, then walked up to the bar. The counter was high, so Hofa had to stand on tiptoe and clear his throat, "Hello!"
"Hello," Tom replied, neither warmly nor coldly, just matter-of-factly.
Hofa: "I was wondering if you're hiring?"
Tom put down the glass he was wiping and looked at Hofa with slight surprise, "What did you say?"
Hofa: "Excuse me, I'm looking for a job, a short-term one."
Tom raised an eyebrow, "Merlin's beard, are wizard kids these days starting to work so young?"
Hofa was frustrated but had no choice. He sighed, "Well, it's the economic crisis out there."
Tom shook his head, "Sorry, we don't hire child labor." With that, he turned back to wiping the glasses.
Hofa didn't give up. He followed Tom to the other side of the counter, "Wait, do you know of any shops in Diagon Alley that are hiring?"
Tom frowned, clearly annoyed. He slammed the rag down, "Hey, kid! You should be focusing on going to Hogwarts, not trying to act like an adult and find a job. Do you think work is that simple?"
Hofa cursed inwardly. If he had the money, he wouldn't be here groveling! This old man was so snobbish—he had been so welcoming to Harry Potter but treated Hofa like a plague, eager to shoo him away.
Tom's voice attracted the attention of several wizards, including a tall, hunched witch who turned around, smoking a pipe and smiling, "Kid, are you short on money? Want to come with me to Knockturn Alley and have a look?"
Before she could finish, Hofa quickly replied, "No, thank you. I'd rather look in Diagon Alley." He certainly wasn't going to agree. This woman, who looked old enough to be his grandmother, was calling herself "sister"—clearly, she wasn't normal.
The tall witch pouted and blew smoke in his face.
Hofa lowered his stance and said to Tom, "I want to go to Diagon Alley. Can you open the door for me?"
Opening the door was part of Tom's job. As the bartender, he was also the gatekeeper. He didn't refuse and simply said, "Follow me."
Hofa thought that with so many shops in Diagon Alley, there might be one that would offer him a job.
Standing in front of the wall, Tom said, "Count up three bricks, then two across, and tap three times. Remember to use a bit of magic if you have a wand later."
Hofa nodded, though he thought to himself that he didn't have a single Knut to his name—Ollivander probably wouldn't give him a wand on credit.
Seeing Hofa's polite attitude, Tom added, "What's your name, kid? Why are you looking for a job?"
Hofa felt a glimmer of hope and quickly replied, "I'm Hofa. I need to earn some money for books."
In the bar, one of the goblins playing cards suddenly perked up his ears and glanced over.
Tom frowned, "If you don't have money, write to Hogwarts for financial aid. They can afford it. And if you're thinking of finding work in Diagon Alley, I suggest you give up. All the shops there are registered with the Ministry and aren't allowed to hire kids under sixteen."
Hofa's hope was instantly crushed, like a balloon deflating with a hiss. He wanted to write to Hogwarts for aid—the letter had even mentioned expecting his owl's reply. But the problem was, Hofa didn't have an owl. Of course, he could buy one in Diagon Alley, but he didn't have any money—not a single Knut.
Just as Hofa was on the verge of despair, one of the goblins playing cards hopped off his stool and squeezed through the chatting wizards. The goblin waved, "Wait, young wizard, what's your name?"
Hofa turned, curious, and saw a goblin wearing a monocle, a leather jacket, and polished shoes, with a suit draped over his arm. He was about half the height of a normal person, roughly Hofa's height. He had a fashionable tuft of golden hair on his forehead and wore earrings. Compared to the other pot-bellied goblins, he looked somewhat presentable.
"My name's Hofa. Why?" Hofa replied.
The goblin nodded and adjusted his monocle. "Surname Bach, right?"
"Yes," Hofa said, surprised.
"What took you so long? I've been waiting for three days," the goblin complained. "My name's Indor. Pleased to meet you." He extended his hand like a salesman.
Hofa shook his hand, feeling uneasy. He studied the goblin, wondering what he had done to make a goblin wait for three days. After all, these creatures were notoriously stingy. Did he owe him money?
But Indor quickly explained, "A wizard asked me to do something a few days ago—to wait here for a kid named Hofa." He coughed and rummaged through his trouser pocket, pulling out a crumpled letter from a pile of bronze coins. "This is the letter he asked me to give you."
Hofa quickly took the letter. It wasn't signed, just some scribbled English words:
**"Last time, I didn't prepare two sets of financial aid. I asked Indor to take you to Gringotts to get it. He's a good goblin—get along with him. See you at school."**
The message was brief, but Hofa immediately knew who had written it—Dumbledore. He hadn't forgotten about him after all. Hofa felt a warmth in his heart and breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was someone in this world who cared about him. He wouldn't have to work odd jobs after all.
After reading the letter, Hofa looked at the goblin with newfound appreciation. But wait—why was he rubbing his hands together and smiling so slyly?
Hofa asked suspiciously, "What are you smiling about?"
Indor adjusted his monocle and grinned, "Well, here's the thing—there's been a bit of an accident."
"What accident?" Hofa felt a sense of foreboding.
"The accident is that this guy has been playing cards in my shop for three days—and he's lost for three days," Tom, the bartender, interjected with a cold laugh before walking away, leaving Hofa to deal with the goblin.
Hofa looked at the sheepish goblin, then at Tom's retreating figure, and finally at the goblins at the card table who were collecting their winnings. He felt as if several Dementors were sucking out his soul, leaving him utterly drained.
"You mean... my financial aid for school..." Hofa stammered.
Indor nodded, "Exactly. I lost it."