335 Chapter 57, the Second Invitation

London.

The Leaky Cauldron.

There were a few people sitting desertedly in the dilapidated dark storefront, one of them was a middle-aged man with bandages wrapped around his shoulders, and his gray hair was messy and disorderly. While the other drinkers were flipping through the newspapers, talking one after another.

"This year's Triwizard Tournament is really huge."

"Who said no, actually invited people other than the magic school to watch the competition, and offered such a high reward."

"The provisional number of viewers has risen to 100,000, including goblins, centaurs, and Veela. The number of viewers is twice that of the Quidditch World Cup."

"Hey! What a great deal, can Hogwarts seat so many people?"

"I heard that the principals of the three major magic schools have set up superstands in the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest at the same time, which can accommodate more than 300,000 people."

"Are you going or not? I heard there will be a lottery."

"Go, it's stupid not to go, everyone who received the news has gone."

The conversations of several middle-aged men next to him drilled into Hoffa's brain like an electric drill, making him sober. He couldn't help asking the boss for a glass of wine, and drank it slowly.

At this moment, three full days have passed since Barty Jr.'s death. Within three days, under the action of the septic blood potion, Hoffa lost his powerful combat ability and recovery ability at night. He had to find a hidden place to deal with himself. the wound.

Miller disappeared, Barty Jr. died, Dumbledore lost his memory, and Nicole Flamel rebelled. At this moment, he has no other helpers around him, but his opponent has become stronger as time goes by.

Voldemort, Grindelwald, and the vague but ubiquitous fate.

Although there is no memory of the past, the vague sense of sight still pops up in front of his eyes from time to time, reminding him that this is not the first time this has happened.

creak.

The stone walls leading to Diagon Alley parted on either side.

More than a dozen people came out of Diagon Alley in an orderly manner. They carried some wizards' daily necessities, one after another, neatly like ants.

In just three days, most of the people Hoffa saw turned into the same ones he saw in the nightmare world, indifferent, numb, ruthless, silent, like walking diamonds.

An inexplicable dream was like a plague, spreading silently across every inch of the world, turning most of the people he saw into walking corpses.

As for why they became like this and what they were dreaming about, Hoffa probably knew, but he didn't want to think about it, let alone admit it.

He has never felt so alone and helpless as he is now.

At this moment, the hunchbacked bar owner put a glass of spirits in front of Hoffa. Hoffa, who had never drank, picked up the glass and gulped it down, his throat felt like a fire.

Under the influence of alcohol, he temporarily forgot the pressure of the huge mountains around him.

"Continued Cup."

he said.

So the bar owner gave him another glass, he hesitated for a moment, raised his glass and drank it down. The spicy power rushed into his body, making the world in front of him a bit blurred, and this was the first time he discovered the joy of drinking.

No, maybe not the first time.

Because along with the fun comes a strong sense of sight.

It is by no means the first time he has sat and drank in a bar. If his guess is correct, he has probably sat in the Leaky Cauldron and drank thousands of times. Fill the entire Lake Baikal.

gurgling.

The wine glass is full and full, and the glass is full again.

His now vicissitudes of life look very much like a man who has been crushed by life. The bar owner is probably used to seeing this kind of person, and he is familiar with pouring wine for him.

After the tenth cup.

The bar owner automatically raised the jug, intending to refill it for him.

Hoffa covered his cup.

"No more?"

asked the hunchbacked owner of the Leaky Cauldron.

"No more."

Hoffa shook his head.

The bald owner of the Leaky Cauldron Bar, who was cleaning glasses, stopped his movements, and said with a faint smile, "As expected of someone I'm looking for, I can still restrain myself at this time."

Hoffa raised his head and looked at the owner of the Leaky Cauldron with his hunched waist and bald head. He is much older than he was fifty years ago. He still remembered the old man younger than himself when he came to the Leaky Cauldron by himself for the first time.

"Have you figured it out?" the bar owner asked an inexplicable question.

"What are you thinking about?" Hoffa asked back.

"Think about accepting my invitation." The bar owner shrugged and smiled.

Hoffa looked at him, his sleepy drunken eyes gradually clearing up.

The hunchbacked man in front of him had deep eyes that could almost suck people's souls in. Those eyes were definitely not something a bar owner could have.

"Are you a little monster?"

He was slightly surprised.

"That's right." The bar owner said calmly, "Sure enough, you haven't been fooled by a pair of skins."

"Ho!"

Hoffa couldn't help pushing the cup aside. He was completely different from the last time he saw the God of Nightmare. The last time she was enchanting and not like a mortal, but this time she was as ugly as a beggar.

"These." Hoffa pointed to the crowd wandering around like walking dead. "You did it?"

"It's not me, it's the result of world interference."

The God of Nightmare took Hoffa's empty wine glass and wiped it, "I told you that this time and space is based on you stopping Sylby Spencer.

But you have not returned to the past for a long time, no one stopped the half-human king in the past, and the entire normal time and space will become a paradox.

The results of Sylby Spencer's victories will eat away at the results of your victories.

The past world overwrites the normal world you see, and that's all you see. "

"No one can escape?"

Hoffa couldn't help but think of Dumbledore. He was clearing his memory the first time he saw him, and he couldn't recognize himself when he saw him again.

"No matter how powerful a wizard is, they cannot escape their fate. Let's see the reality, Hofbach." The Nightmare God asked with a vicissitudes of life: "Have you thought about it?"

"What if I figured it out?" Hoffa asked.

"You will be my spokesperson, and I will give you the power to overcome everything, Riddle, Grindelwald, Spencer. Anyone who dares to stop you will be dragged into an eternal nightmare by you."

"Make me the god of nightmares?"

"It's understandable, but it won't be too long."

"What's the price?"

Hoffa asked bitterly.

"You understand."

The God of Nightmare said calmly.

"Go back fifty years and defeat Sylby."

"certainly."

boom!

Hoffa slapped the table with restraint and sullenness.

"Why must it be me?"

The God of Nightmare wiped his wine glass calmly, and looked at Hoffa with extremely deep eyes without saying a word, until he no longer wanted to look at him.

Hoffa stood up and walked out the door without paying.

The sun outside the door was icy cold, and the cold winter wind swept across his neck like a knife.

A long memory flooded his mind, and he suddenly wanted to walk away. So he Apparated and disappeared in place.

When he reappeared, he appeared in a cemetery near Grasmere and Lake Rydal.

Here, the priest is digging, digging out piles of brown earth. There was also a group of dark, stern-faced men in long frock coats, unusually high hats, shiny black boots, and a black wooden box. At this time, men in priest's robes were talking loudly nearby, and the women were crying.

The crying sound made Hoffa feel calm. It seemed that only at this time did he feel the ultimate of all things. He looked at the thorny forest under his feet and started a long trek.

I don't know how many branches and thorns he stepped on, and he came to a hillside. It is covered with frost, thorns and tall shrubs are dead on the hillside, and the branches of withered roses are crumbling under the severe winter.

He rubbed his hands, let out a breath of white air, and began to search according to his memory. It didn't take long before he found a collapsed rusted metal fence on the hillside, and two tombstones were faintly visible inside the fence.

The top of the tombstone was covered with yellow moss, and he cleared the area of ​​branches and moss to reveal the vague names of Fattil and Aglaia underneath.

This is the first time in fifty years that he can face the past so honestly.

In a sense, his life has already been completed. The old man left himself a huge amount of wealth, enough to do whatever he wanted in the world, but ironically, the only thing he really wanted was , but he can never really get it.

From the time he was born in this world until now, he has been completely intact.

If he can, he really wants to sit by the seaside with the one he loves deeply, watching the sunset from the seaside, revealing the stars all over the sky, listening to the sound of the waves, without any extra words. But I clearly told myself that I would never be alone again.

But no.

Certainly not.

Just not.

It just doesn't work.

Absolutely not.

The god above his head was perverted and crazy like a child. He would rather see him die six thousand times, or even sixty thousand times, six hundred million times, six trillion times, than let him get his wish.

He touched the tombstone, then sat down, leaning on the tombstones of the two men and began to think, thinking about the past, thinking about the future, thinking about the meaning of his own life, and thinking about why life is so difficult.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt small, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt that what he did was meaningless.

But the more so, the more unwilling he was, and the more he wanted to do something.

"Little monster." He whispered softly.

As soon as the words fell, the pastor who was reciting the eulogy a hundred meters away suddenly stopped speaking in the shadow of the whirling trees, and the crowd fell silent. The women stopped crying and the men stopped digging. The crowd spread out to both sides.

The head pastor straightened his robes, parted the bushes, stepped on thorns and came to Hoffa's side. With an inscrutable smile, he asked again: "Have you thought about it?"

"Is this world a dream?" Hoffa asked the Nightmare God.

"I can't answer, but judging from your dimension, no. At least not the creation of Sylby Spencer."

Hoffa turned his head slowly, "You know my future, don't you? You know my reincarnation, right?"

"Sorry, I don't know."

The pastor shook his head: "But I have learned from thousands of years of experience that you have no choice but to take responsibility for your future."

"If I go back, how do you want me to go back?" Hoffa couldn't help asking.

"Dreams can take you across the world of time illusions and the deep world of causality." The pastor circled Hoffa with light footsteps, "Like a dancer, jumping from one point to another, as long as you don't The principles that pollute the world."

"I don't understand," Hoffa said.

"To put it simply, as long as you obey your fate, I can take you back to the past."

"Can you come back?"

"No, I will only help you until the moment you defeat the half-human king, after that you are meaningless to me."

"Oh, you are honest." Hoffa couldn't help laughing at himself, and he continued to ask: "But Grindelwald is stopping me, he wants to destroy this world directly. If he succeeds, the existence of the two worlds will be It loses its meaning, doesn't it?"

"Of course, if you don't want this to happen, you can do the same with Sylby."

"Same?"

"Drag Gellert Grindelwald into the dream and seal it. I have this ability. As long as you promise to go back to the past, I can help you defeat Gellert Grindelwald and help you get revenge."

"I'm different from Sylby, and I'm different from anyone else." Hoffa denied without hesitation.

"Words are useless, I only believe in actions." The Nightmare God said.

Hoffa didn't speak, he thought of his future form he saw in the underworld.

The future self agreed to the deal of the god of nightmares, became the new god of nightmares, and dragged Grindelwald into the nightmare, and then went back to the past, waiting for the visit of the future self.

The god of death saw such an ending, so he let himself go without caring. My own destiny has formed a complete circle, and even people who are related to my own destiny cannot escape this circle. They and themselves cycle in this cycle again and again, losing their memories time and time again, including their own. , the only one who remembers everything is Aglaia from the underworld.

"Besides, do I have no choice?"

Hoffa asked the Nightmare God.

"No, at least I can't see it."

The priest in robes said very firmly.

"You will accept your fate, you will."

Facing his determination, this time, Hoffa could no longer say that sentence happily—but, I refused.

He felt like a gray hare being chased by a hound in the wasteland. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how far he ran, the hound would always catch up with him, find him, and eat him.

But his heart was always full of unwillingness, and that unwillingness was so strong that he couldn't agree to the guy in front of him and accept the predetermined fate.

So he took a step back, trying to escape the gaze of the Nightmare God.

However, this seemed to be of no avail. The men digging in the far distance of the cemetery and the crying women all surrounded him.

He backed up and bumped into a woman in black silk, who said, "We are meant to be related, that's why you feel kind to me, and that's why I've come to you for help."

So Hoffa immediately changed direction, but this time he bumped into a man with a shovel.

The man with the shovel said: "Resistance is an extremely painful thing, and most of the time it is meaningless. If you obey sooner or later, you can save a lot of detours if you obey earlier."

The God of Nightmare has countless clones, each of them can speak, but they all have the same deep cosmic eyes.

The crowd gathered here made Hoffa feel uneasy and oppressed. He pushed away the women and priests around him, found a random direction and strode away. The crowd strolled behind him, unhurriedly.

He walked faster and faster along the road, and finally when he entered the city, those who were chasing him finally disappeared.

But at this time, all the pedestrians on the road turned their heads, looked at him, and said with a blank expression:

"You will accept it, you will!"