Hoffa felt like he was going to die.

Not only was he burned by the scorching sun during the day, but there were also some subtle but irreversible changes in his body.

Under the bright sun in London in 1994, he could see that some tiny lenses were being produced on the surface of his skin. Those lenses were growing and spreading little by little, and before long, the knuckles of his right fingers became transparent.

Sister Chloe once told him that except for her, everyone's position in time and space is determined from the moment they are born. If they move without authorization, a time flare will occur. The longer they exist in the alien space, the longer they exist in the alien space.

The logical chain that maintains his existence becomes increasingly fragile.

The last time, just two or three days ago, he almost died under the impact of a time flare. That feeling of powerlessness in the face of the law of time is still fresh to this day.

And this time, fifty years later.

When the time flare sounded the death horn again, Chloe was no longer there, walking alone in a completely unfamiliar land, and he couldn't think of any way to survive.

Go back fifty years? Go to Dumbledore? Think about it, even Dumbledore can't make him go back fifty years. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't build another Arrow of Time in just two days.

.

What can be done? If you only have two days left to live.

If you asked him five years ago what he would do if he came to the world of Harry Potter, he would probably happily say things like making friends with Hermione and fighting Voldemort.

But now, looking at the poster of "This Killer Is Not Too Cold" in front of him, he just wanted to order a cup of popcorn, an iced Coke, and a hamburger, sit in the cinema in the most comfortable posture, and wait for death quietly.

arrival.

The most passive time traveler in history, bar none.

Thinking of this, Hoffa actually laughed at himself. This was probably some kind of emotional compensation mechanism. The brain subconsciously prevents people from collapsing because of too much despair.

Then do it.

He stood up in a daze, ignoring the strange looks from others, and walked toward the distant cinema.

But when he slowly walked to the door of the cinema, he discovered another problem that was not a problem.

He has no money.

His clothes were changed at Miranda's house fifty years ago, and they became tattered due to the fighting. Even if he had a few dollars in his pocket, they would have been burned away long ago.

It is true that he can use magic to swindle some money or conjure some counterfeit money.

But that's meaningless.

He wants to harm others before he dies. It's so boring that he would do that.

He saw the exquisite old necklace in his hand, which was the only thing he owned, and then looked at a McDonald's store nearby, thinking that he might be able to exchange it for a glass of iced Coke.

So he walked into the store, but as soon as he entered, he was pushed out by a fat female clerk with a pockmarked face and nostrils turned upward. She pointed at the long queue in front of the counter: "I didn't see it was busy.

Well, let’s go, we don’t have time to entertain homeless people.”

Hoffa, who was pushed out of the glass door, was not angry at all. He turned around and asked: "You...did you win World War II?"

He was stunned for a second.

"Crazy."

The fat woman waved the rag used to clean the table, splashing lettuce leaves on Hoffa's face, and said slowly and bitterly: "If you have any questions, ask your teacher, you are just a little bastard who dropped out of high school and has nothing to do."

.....

Outside the McDonald's restaurant, Hoffa held the necklace and sat on a red fire hydrant on the street in the afternoon, looking aimlessly at the passing vehicles. At this moment, the time flare on the back of his hand had expanded to his forearm, from his thumb to the elbow joint, including

Most of it is transparent.

He has long been accustomed to the devastation of World War II, but he is extremely unfamiliar with this vivid world that he should be familiar with.

Britain is still Britain, there are still no shortage of movies that should be made, there are still no shortage of electrical appliances that should be invented, and things that should happen still happen.

Germany did not win. Even though he was going to die in two days, Germany still did not win. Grindelwald did not achieve his goal of making the world feel pain, which shows that his existence is actually insignificant. It would be the same with or without him.

"How ironic."

He said calmly, "It turns out that I am nothing."

Wow!!

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a rapid noise of tires scraping the ground. A sultry yellow Lamborghini Diablo stopped in front of the McDonald's store.

It has square eyes, a huge air intake grille and a long tail wing. Its butt makes a puffing exhaust sound and drips water outwards.

The pedestrians on the side turned their heads in the direction of the sound, the drivers stared at the wide monster with wide eyes, showing envy, and the children jumped up and down, whispering excitedly, the sound coming from under the hood,

Interrupting the voices of other people on the street.

Although he was on the verge of death at this moment, and although Hoffa had just come to this era fifty years ago, he still dug out some information about this car from his dusty memory. Diablo, produced in 1991...9

One of the top luxury cars of the decade.

Bang.

The car door opened upward, and a hoarse but pleasant man's voice came from inside the car: "My dear, get down here."

"Hey, did you agree to go shopping on Oxford Street?"

The woman said dissatisfied.

"Oh, today is just an unlucky day. I have to pick up a friend."

"Can't you tell me in advance where I will go now?"

"Go shopping, go shopping, drink coffee, whatever you want."

The hoarse man's voice became a little perfunctory.

"I don't."

The woman said forcefully.

"Hold it, the password is your birthday."

The man said casually and put something in her hand.

"You remember my birthday!?"

The woman said in surprise.

"Uh...maybe..."

"Hmph, I hate it. I just like your indifferent attitude towards me, Trojan!"

Accompanied by a passionate kiss that made passers-by envious, there was a burst of hot fragrance. A pair of long legs stepped out of the luxury car and passed in front of Hoffa.

It was a strange woman wearing sunglasses and carrying a brand-name bag, looking around with an arrogant expression. There were only four big words written on her bejeweled face: I am a supermodel.

This kind of scene is not surprising in London in later generations. The war is over, the economy is developing rapidly, and rich people are everywhere, just like in Shanghai or Beijing in the 21st century. When you see this kind of scene, you probably feel it in your heart.

After cursing, "Damn guy," or something like "if you have money, you can really do whatever you want," then you turned around and left unwillingly, blaming God for not giving him a good pregnancy.

Hoffa lowered his head and didn't care about a sports car or a model. He didn't care about anything because he was going to die.

But the sports car did not leave. Instead, it kept parked in front of him and farted.

The owner of the sports car turned sideways and shouted to the gray-haired boy sitting on the fire hydrant outside the car door: "Hey, can you come in?"

There was a sudden pain in his arm, and Hoffa frowned.

Seeing that he didn't respond, the guy driving the sports car honked the horn, and the yellow Lamborghini Diablo made a loud roar.

Hoffa slowly raised his head and saw an old man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap staring at him through the open gull-wing door. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans, honking his horn happily:

"Young man, don't be so negative, come in and sit down."

Hoffa glanced around him, and the Lamborghini made another unpleasant fart sound, Puff.

The old man was helpless: "Who are you looking at? I'm talking to you."

Passers-by stopped and showed surprised expressions.

There was no way they could associate this guy who was just sitting on a manhole cover begging, with his body in rags, a gray chicken coop, and his face covered in dust, with the shiny luxury car in front of him.

The female employee cleaning the tables at the burger restaurant saw the scene outside the glass and her jaw dropped to the floor. She didn't understand why the owner of the rare luxury car let a homeless man get in and sit in it.

Even the tall model, who had walked away several steps, pulled down her glasses in surprise, and her mouth covered in expensive lipstick became an O-shape.

Hoffa still didn't respond.

The old man in the car was helpless. He got out from the other side. Under his vest, he had a healthy tanned complexion. He was tall and looked very powerful.

Then, he stepped forward, grabbed Hoffa's arm, and dragged him into the car without any explanation.

The Lamborghini didn't match its appearance and its simple chrome interior. Hoffa let out a muffled groan. There was a strong smell of perfume in the car, which made his chest feel tight. Before he could realize what was going on, severe pain surged into his body again.

.

There was a subtle clicking sound, and he could feel his chest rapidly crystallizing. His existence was becoming increasingly illogical, and his body was rapidly disintegrating under the power of the arrow of time.

Bang!

The Lamborghini door closes.

The vehicles roared and sped out through the streets of London.
To be continued...