181 Chapter 48, Falling

Dumbledore saw the young man coming around the corner, and asked in surprise, "Bach?"

"Good evening, Professor," Hoffa said.

"Aren't you going back so late? It's curfew time."

Dumbledore was not angry, just asked with a frown.

"Something happened and I have to tell you."

"What's up."

"I have three roommates."

"Wait a minute, go to the office and talk."

Dumbledore looked around and interrupted Hoffa: "Exactly, I have something to ask you too."

Hoffa froze for a moment and nodded.

"good."

Dumbledore walked in front, and Hoffa walked behind. They didn't speak all the way, but Hoffa felt a long-lost sense of relief. It is like a water-scarce traveler who has been walking in the desert for a long time and meets a lush oasis.

The two arrived at the office on the third floor one after the other.

Dumbledore's office is not much different from before. Several wooden cabinets, a mahogany desk, and some shiny silverware are placed on the table, slowly rotating. The phoenix named Fox stands on a tall gilded perch. Seeing Hoffa approaching, it straightened up happily and gave him a low growl.

Hoffa sat himself down in a chair and greeted Fox.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the fireplace burst into flames. The whole room suddenly warmed up.

Under the light of the fire, Dumbledore's usually tall body looked a little hunched at this moment. Probably because the long journey consumed a lot of his mind, he walked to the cabinet and took out a glass of amber glass wine bottle. Open it and pour it shallowly into two cups.

For some reason, this action reminded Hoffa of Jacob Bohan, the teacher of Transfiguration.

He asked while pouring the wine, "I heard that now you have quite a lot of influence among ordinary students."

Hoffa nodded and said softly:

"That's right."

"I am very pleased that you are willing to take responsibility."

Dumbledore came to Hoffa with two wine glasses and put one in front of Hoffa.

"Thanks."

Hoffa picked up the glass and took a shallow sip.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his joints clicking.

"However, the recent feedback from other deans to me shows that the students' minds are very impetuous recently, and they have no energy to study hard at all."

"Um"

Hoffa put down his glass, "It seems to be like this."

"What's going on here?" Dumbledore asked with fingers crossed.

"What?" Hoffa didn't understand.

"I said, the atmosphere in the school is impetuous now, why is that?"

Hoffa didn't know why Dumbledore asked himself this question. Isn't it because of the influence of the environment that the students are impetuous, and what does it have to do with him.

"I don't know." He said honestly, "Maybe it's because of too much pressure. There are wars outside, and the daily studies are very heavy."

"Hoffa."

Dumbledore interrupted him, "You didn't manage them well."

Silence enveloped the office, and Hoffa looked into Dumbledore's blue eyes and didn't know what to say for a while.

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his temples: "Hoffa, you are no longer an ordinary student."

Hoffa: "I don't think so."

"You have to feel that way."

Dumbledore said categorically. He straightened up and crossed his fingers:

"Listen, Bach, the outside world is staring at the school, as the only magic high school in the UK. At this time, you should share my worries."

"I"

"Why not try to set an example for them?"

"I"

"Hoffa, this is your responsibility. You should be strong."

Dumbledore's repeated strong speeches made Hoffa a little dazed, and he even heard a hint of disdainful laughter from the bottom of his heart. He shook his head vigorously, and the auditory hallucination disappeared.

"What's wrong?"

Dumbledore frowned at Hoffa.

Hoffa gasped a few times, opened his eyes after calming down.

"Can we not talk about this for now?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I have some personal questions to ask, Professor."

Dumbledore picked up the wine glass on the table and took a sip.

"Do you have any personal questions?"

"I"

Hoffa raised his head and was in a trance again.

Although in the past six months, Hoffa has been eager to see Dumbledore and wants to talk to him in private. But when it came time to speak, Hoffa found it a bit difficult, not only hard to describe, but also ashamed to speak.

"Go ahead, Bach."

Dumbledore crossed his fingers: "I'm listening."

"Professor, I... I am in pain."

Hoffa said with some difficulty.

"Why the pain?" Dumbledore asked.

"I feel like there's something wrong with me mentally."

Hoffa hesitated.

"There is a mental problem?" Dumbledore was dumbfounded, "How old are you?"

"Yes, I can't stop having nightmares. There's a weird guy in the dream, and I always see a lot of colorful faces and hear voices that I shouldn't hear."

"A weird-looking guy? A colorful face and a weird voice?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened, with a puzzled look on his face.

Hoffa nodded: "Also, I... I'm not very interested in what my friends do. And the daily work of the school, I think, is a little too mechanical."

Dumbledore frowned and thought: "What other people asked you to say is your own point of view."

"My own opinion."

Dumbledore looked at Hoffa carefully for a moment with those X-ray-like eyes: "When did it start?"

"Just this year."

"What are you dreaming about?"

"Fall from upstairs."

Dumbledore was taken aback, and the corner of his mouth twitched, "Then what did you hear?"

"I don't know, I can't remember."

"Is it just a dream?"

"Maybe, I don't know too well."

Dumbledore sighed and moved the cup from his hand.

"You know what I think? Hoffa, I think you're still a little free."

Hoffa looked up in astonishment, this was not the answer he wanted to hear.

"I also dream. Wizards are still humans, and they will be disturbed by the subconscious. I dreamed that someone gave me a bunch of woolen socks last night. However, I will keep myself busy and forget about these things."

Dumbledore sighed again: "The school has nothing to do at this time, after these few years, it should be much better."

After a pause, he said, "Hoffa, work hard."

It seems to have crossed an invisible watershed. A string cracked in the chest.

Dumbledore was close at hand, but seemed far away from him. Hoffa could clearly see the stains on his auburn beard, but he was once again wrapped in strangeness.

effort

Not trying hard enough.

Is it because I didn't try hard enough?

Dumbledore stood up and patted Hoffa on the shoulder: "It's okay, don't think too much, go back and have a good rest."

Hoffa looked at the palm of his shoulder, then at the blue eyes under Dumbledore's spectacles. His excitement and energy were quickly taken away by the black hole, and he felt dispirited.

"I see, I see."

He finished speaking softly, stood up, turned around, with a cold face, like a piece of frozen beef walking, unconscious.

"Wait a minute, Bach."

Dumbledore stopped him.

"What's wrong?"

Holding the doorknob, Hoffa turned his head slightly.

"What did you want to say about the three roommates at the beginning?"

Hoffa looked at Dumbledore for a moment.

"Nothing, good night, Professor."

After all, he left Dumbledore's office.

How he got back to Ravenclaw Tower that night, he had forgotten.

He only remembered a sleepless night when all his roommates disappeared. Sitting alone in the room, the cold wind outside the window blows the curtains and keeps dancing.

A cold crescent moon hangs high in the sky, and some mottled fragments of dialogue flashed through Hoffa's mind.

over thinking.

not working hard enough

The gap between ideal and reality widened again, he closed his eyes, and the curtains stroked his face like a massage.

The depth of thinking gradually emerged, as if God split a Mariana Trench in his mind, separating the oceans of rationality and sensibility.

He began to gradually understand some incomprehensible things, began to understand the limitations of wizards, the limitations of human beings.

Everyone in this world is concerned about their own affairs, fame, honor, resources, society, school, even a wise man like Dumbledore is not exempt.

Human consciousness is originally an accident in evolution. Without consciousness, life will continue to exist only relying on instinct. Excessive observation and thinking do not help existence itself.

He shouldn't, a salmon wouldn't want another salmon to know how he felt, because that wouldn't make any sense.

He should show positive energy, show high value, show omnipotent strength, and show the attitude of a community leader.

He should be like William, manipulating the secretion of other people's hormones and dopamine, enjoying the joy of youth, enjoying the opportunities God gave him, and enjoying his status in Hogwarts.

He only needs to make a lot of money, defeat many, many opponents, find a mate to lay eggs like a salmon, copy the DNA, and then die calmly.

But why do you think so much.

Why is life more and more painful.

Why did all this bore him so much.

He didn't know, he hated himself like this.

The next day, Christmas Eve.

He walked out of the dorm and decided to get something to stay alive.

The ornately decorated hall was unexpectedly deserted, and there were very few people in the supposedly lively hall. Among them, only students in twos and threes gathered together, looking around nervously.

There was no one on the teaching desk.

Seeing Hoffa approaching, the small group of students quickly surrounded him as if they had found the backbone.

"Bach, where have you been?"

Some students said in shock.

"Our friends are all missing."

This news probably surprised Hoffa for 0.1S, and then he sat down at the dining table in relief and added a bowl of pumpkin porridge for himself. There was no fluctuation in his heart. If the Ministry of Magic came to close Hogwarts now, he probably wouldn't struggle.

Someone anxiously scratched their heads: "They were still playing chess in the common room. For some reason, they disappeared while playing."

"I heard someone singing, listen, listen, the people in my dormitory disappeared"

"Last night I saw a group of animals lined up and ran down the corridor, looking and watching"

"Shut up."

Hoffa interrupted them coldly.

"I eat."

His indifference stunned the other students, and they became anxious and started chirping to persuade him.

"Why are you like this?"

"They are your friends, please help."

"Yes, Bach, stop joking."

"Hurry up and help us find them."

"You are so powerful, you can get it done with your hands."

Hoffa sat motionless in his seat, not moving at all. The whole person exudes an aura that is not close to others. After a long time, the twittering persuasion subsided.

The crowd around him gradually dispersed, moving away from him step by step.

After the anticipation was shattered, it was replaced by unspeakable disappointment. No one stepped forward to ask Hoffa what happened. Some only have disappointed eyes that are as sharp as a blade.

The disappointment spread like the plague through the school.

After breakfast, he left the hall.

People who met him took the initiative to avoid him.

He was wandering in the school, the energy in his body dropped to the bottom.

To be honest he has no idea where to go right now, he feels like a twenty-first century BB machine.

At this time, he thought of the Room of Response on the eighth floor, and he wanted to find a place where he could hide his things and hide himself.

Walking to the tapestry on the eighth floor, the giant in the tapestry is holding a stick and dancing ballet, looking stupid.

He stood still, and time and space turned.

He coincided with the boy wearing glasses who stood here fifty years later.

At this moment, he really felt the difference between himself and Harry, which was the most essential difference between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

Lions are social animals, and he never was, and Eagle's inner ego made it hard for him in this school.

He didn't even turn three times before the slick door appeared, and he opened the door to the Room of Requirement with that strong desire to hide.

The mottled beams of light illuminate hills of rubbish like mountains, snowflakes drift in from the high windows, and fall on the tops of those piled up old things, forming white spots one by one.

However, Hoffa's sight did not stop at those forbidden objects accumulated for thousands of years.

Inside the room, a pair of maroon eyes were looking at him without blinking.

It's the cat with the black and white face.

It sat atop its crouched rusty armor guard this time, meowing softly as if it had been waiting for Hoffa.