The Leaky Cauldron

Tom Riddle did not come looking for trouble with Hoffa. In fact, after receiving Hogwarts' invitation, he had kept an unusually low profile.

Hoffa was even less likely to foolishly provoke him. All he needed to do was eat, exercise, and familiarize himself with the surroundings.

A month later, Hoffa had basically explored all the areas around the orphanage. He had also roughly figured out where the Leaky Cauldron was.

At that moment, Hoffa was holding a paper map of London as he walked toward the Leaky Cauldron.

He wore a worker's cap, and the socks above his Martin boots were filthy. He looked exactly like a child laborer selling newspapers.

London's streets in 1938 were nowhere near as prosperous as they would be in later generations. The roads were paved with gray bricks and full of potholes. Old cars with canopies rumbled past, belching thick black exhaust. Their colors were drab, nothing like the brightly colored cars of the future.

Many hungry people wandered about holding signs that said they were looking for work, while some dejected young men smoked at street corners. These were the lingering effects of the 1929 Economic Crisis. After World War I, the decline of the empire on which the sun never set was plain for all to see.

At a street corner, Hoffa saw a group of workers with pipes in their mouths, using paste to put up posters. When he walked over for a closer look, he realized they were black-and-white recruitment posters issued by the British royal family.

The moment he saw that poster, Hoffa's heart sank.

At this point in time, he had forgotten the most important thing.

It did not come from the wizarding world, but from the Muggle world.

World War II was about to begin!!

Hitler was still alive! A whole batch of demon-king-level figures from the same era were all alive!

Hideki Tojo, Mussolini...

Compared to Voldemort, the Dark wizard who had yet to grow into his power, those people were the real demon kings! The destruction and slaughter caused by Voldemort might not even amount to a fraction of theirs.

Hoffa did not know much about history, but he knew that World War II began in 1939. There was only one year left.

After seeing the poster, Hoffa stood rooted to the spot with the map in his hands.

He nearly wanted to cry.

Damn heavens, of all the eras I could have come to, why did it have to be this war-torn one!?

Honk, honk, honk!

A car horn pulled Hoffa out of his despair.

Turning around, he saw an old-fashioned motorcycle coming toward him. The last time Hoffa had seen that kind of motorcycle had been in a TV drama about the War of Resistance against Japan. One person drove while another sat in the sidecar.

Two soldiers dressed in dark green stopped before Hoffa. One of them, smoking a cigarette and leaning out from the sidecar, called loudly.

"Are you Hoffa Bach?"

Hoffa froze, staring at the two young soldiers in confusion. I don't know these guys. Do I have my name written on my face?

He nodded. "That's me."

The soldier in the sidecar immediately pulled out a bundled stack of letters from behind his backside. He licked his fingers, flipped through them, then pulled one out and handed it to Hoffa.

"Your letter, kid. Hold onto it and don't lose it."

With that, the soldier driving stepped on the pedal, and the motorcycle rumbled away.

Hoffa turned the letter over in amazement.

London

Bonnington Market Street

532 meters west of the Leaky Cauldron

Second corner

To Mr. Hoffa Bach

Just like in the novel, the words were written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, and it had the thick, weighty feel of parchment in his hand.

Hoffa stared open-mouthed at the two soldiers, who had already vanished, then flipped the letter over. There was a wax seal bearing a shield emblem: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a capital "H."

Well, after Dumbledore had spoken to him that day, he had expected to receive a letter. But he had never expected it to arrive like this.

He looked up at the sky, utterly bewildered.

How had these people pinpointed his location so accurately?

Setting aside his doubts, Hoffa eagerly tore open the letter. Something he had fantasized about countless times in his previous life had actually become reality today. He could not have been more excited.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

(Vice President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Royal Honorary Wizard, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)

Dear Mr. Bach,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl's reply by July 31.

Deputy Headmaster

Adalbert Goshawk

Hoffa read the sheet over and over. Without a doubt, this letter was the same as the one in the novel, yet completely different.

It gave him three pieces of information. First, Dumbledore was not his headmaster. Instead, it was a man named Armando Dippet. Second, the deputy headmaster was not Minerva McGonagall, but a stranger named Adalbert Goshawk. Third, the Muggle world was not entirely separate from the wizarding world. At the very least, someone within the royal family knew of the wizarding world's existence.

For example, those two soldiers just now were very likely wizards. Otherwise, they would not have calmly handed him such a strange letter. Of course, it was also possible that they had been enchanted.

However, after seeing Headmaster Armando Dippet's title of Royal Honorary Wizard, Hoffa felt that his first guess was more likely.

It was not strange. The people at the top of the world naturally possessed more information than ordinary people. With such a massive wizarding population, it would have been impossible to completely conceal traces of wizardkind's existence with the Ministry of Magic alone, without cooperation from high-ranking Muggles.

After silently noting the information he had learned, Hoffa pulled out the second sheet.

This page was much more ordinary. It only listed the textbooks and tools required for Hogwarts, largely the same as what he had seen in his previous life.

But after reading it through, Hoffa shuddered.

He remembered something very important.

He had no money...

That was right.

He was truly destitute, utterly penniless. Even his meals were entirely funded by the orphanage.

He had neither property left behind by dead parents nor any idea where to apply for Hogwarts' poverty fund. He did not even have a relative like Uncle Vernon in this world.

He could not possibly ask the orphanage for money to attend Hogwarts. Those people were poor souls too. Raising him to this age had already been difficult enough.

Standing on a London street in 1938, Hoffa was struck by the cold wind of reality and felt chilled to the bone.

Money could stump even the greatest of men. Even as a transmigrator, he felt utterly helpless at that moment.

"Does it really have to be like this, boss... Give me hope, only to crush it again?"

Hoffa sighed to himself and 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! He would scrape together the tuition somehow!

Gritting his teeth, Hoffa headed toward the Leaky Cauldron.

If he was going to beg or find work, he had to do it in the wizarding world. After all, wizarding Galleons did not exist in the Muggle world.

The only good news was that he now knew the Leaky Cauldron's exact location from the envelope.

The Leaky Cauldron was now situated between a suit shop and an umbrella shop. Muggles walked past it without so much as a glance. Hoffa tucked away his map and stepped inside.

The legendary pub was just as it had been described in the books: dark, shabby, and filled with all sorts.

Male wizards drank, witches smoked, and several goblin-like creatures played cards in a corner. The table was piled with coins.

The only difference was that the owner behind the counter was not quite so hunched and ancient. Though his bald patch already foretold the tragic fate of his hair, at least he was not completely bald yet.

Rows of dark oil paintings on the tavern walls were especially eye-catching.

Everyone in those paintings could move.

Hoffa slowly looked them over. At the end of the gallery, he saw a painting of an elderly woman. She wore a wooden hairpin and smoked a pipe, looking just like a domineering landlady.

When she saw Hoffa, she blew out smoke viciously. "What are you looking at, you little pauper!?"

Hoffa curled his lips and frowned.

Beneath the painting, it read:

The Leaky Cauldron—Founded by Daisy Dodderidge

(1467–1555)

Hoffa had no interest in arguing with a painting. He went over to the bar counter where the owner, Tom, stood.

Young Tom was wiping glasses in front of the bar. When Hoffa pushed open the door and entered, Tom merely glanced up at him indifferently before returning to his work.

Hoffa thought of the grand reception Harry Potter would receive upon entering this pub for the first time in the future. Comparing it to his own ignored state, he could only sigh. Comparing people really was enough to drive one mad.

He truly did not have the legendary protagonist's halo.

He gazed longingly at the Galleons in the hands of the goblins playing cards, then walked solemnly to the counter.

The bar was high, and Hoffa had to stand on tiptoe. He cleared his throat. "Hello!"

"Hello." Tom the innkeeper was neither warm nor cold. He sounded perfectly ordinary.

Hoffa said, "May I ask if you're hiring here?"

Only then did Tom stop wiping the glass and look at Hoffa with mild surprise. "What did you say?"

Hoffa said, "Excuse me, I'm looking for a job. A short-term one."

Tom said in surprise, "Merlin's beard, wizarding children are already looking for work at this age?"

Hoffa was going mad, but circumstances were stronger than he was. He could only sigh. "No choice. There's an economic crisis outside, isn't there?"

Tom bared his teeth and shook his head. "Sorry, we don't hire child labor." With that, he moved to the other side of the counter and continued wiping glasses.

Hoffa would not give up. He followed him. "Wait, then do you know if there are any other shops in Diagon Alley that are hiring?"

Tom became unhappy. His brows furrowed as he set down the rag heavily.

"Hey! You little brat, why aren't you studying properly at Hogwarts? Why are you trying to act like an adult and find work? Do you think getting a job is that simple?"

Damn it! Hoffa cursed inwardly. You think I don't want to go? If I had money, why would I be sucking up to you while you treat me like dirt!?

Why was this old man so snobbish? He had been so enthusiastic when he met Harry Potter, but when he saw Hoffa, it was as if he had seen the plague and could not wait to throw him out.

Tom's voice drew the attention of several wizards. One tall, hunchbacked witch turned around, puffing on a pipe as she asked with a smile, "Little one, are you short on money? Want to come take a look at Knockturn Alley with your big sister...?"

Before she could finish, Hoffa hurriedly replied, "No need, thank you for the offer. I'd still rather look in Diagon Alley."

Of course he would not agree. This person looked old enough to be his grandmother, yet she called herself his big sister. There was obviously something wrong with her.

The tall witch curled her lips and blew a mouthful of smoke into his face.

Hoffa still lowered his stance and said to Tom, "I want to go to Diagon Alley. Could you open the door for me?"

Opening the door was Tom's proper duty. His pub was located here, so he was half a gatekeeper himself.

He did not refuse, merely saying flatly, "Follow me."

Hoffa thought that with so many shops in Diagon Alley, perhaps one of them would give him a chance to work.

Standing before the wall, Tom said, "Count three up, two across, then tap three times. Remember to use some magic when you do, once you have a wand."

Hoffa hurriedly nodded, though what he was actually thinking was that he did not have a penny, and Ollivanders probably would not let him buy a wand on credit.

Seeing that Hoffa's attitude was still acceptable, Tom added, "What's your name, kid? Why are you looking for work?"

Hoffa felt that things might be taking a turn for the better and quickly said, "My name is Hoffa. I'm looking for work to earn money for books."

Inside the tavern, one of the goblins playing cards suddenly twitched his long ears, and his gaze drifted over.

But Tom the innkeeper frowned. "If you don't have money, write to Hogwarts and apply for assistance. They aren't short on this little bit of money. And if you want to find work in Diagon Alley, I advise you to give up. Those are all legitimate shops registered with the Ministry of Magic. They aren't allowed to hire children under sixteen."

The hope that had just flared in Hoffa's heart was instantly crushed, like a swollen balloon punctured through its skin, hissing as it deflated.

Write to Hogwarts and apply? He wanted to write.

Their letter had even said they were awaiting his owl's reply, but the problem was...

Hoffa did not have an owl...

Of course, owls could be bought in Diagon Alley, but he had no money either...

Not even a single Knut.

However, just as Hoffa was beginning to despair, one of the goblins playing cards jumped down from his stool and squeezed past the waists of several chatting wizards.

The goblin beckoned. "Wait a moment, young wizard. What did you say your name was?"

Hoffa turned curiously and saw a goblin walking over. He wore a monocle, a leather jacket, leather shoes, and had a suit draped over his arm. He was only half the height of a normal person, about as tall as Hoffa himself. A stylish tuft of blond hair sat on his forehead, and two earrings hung from his ears. Compared to the other pot-bellied old goblins, he was rather pleasant to look at.

"My name is Hoffa. What is it?"

The goblin nodded and adjusted his monocle.

"Your surname is Bach, correct?"

"Yes." Hoffa was extremely surprised.

"Why did you only come now? I've been waiting for you for three days." The goblin complained. "My name is Yinduo. Pleased to meet you."

He held out his hand with practiced ease, like a salesman.

Hoffa shook it, feeling unsettled. He looked the office-attired goblin up and down, wondering what he could possibly have done to make a goblin wait three days for him. These creatures were notoriously stingy. Could he have owed him money?

But Yinduo quickly said, "A wizard asked me to handle something for him some time ago. He told me to wait here for a child named Hoffa."

As he spoke, Yinduo cleared his throat and rummaged through his trouser pocket. From among a pile of greenish copper coins, he pulled out a crumpled letter and handed it to Hoffa.

"This is the letter that wizard asked me to deliver to you."

Hoffa hurriedly took it. The letter was unsigned, containing only some looping English handwriting.

Last time, I did not prepare two grants.

I asked Yinduo to take you to Gringotts to collect yours.

He is a good goblin.

Get along well.

See you at school.

The words were extremely brief, but Hoffa knew at once who had written them. It was Dumbledore. He had not forgotten about him after all. Warmth rose in Hoffa's heart, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

At least there was still someone in this world who cared about him. He would not have to go looking for work after all.

After reading the letter, Hoffa found the goblin before him increasingly pleasant to look at.

Wait, why was this fellow suddenly rubbing his hands together and smiling so shrewdly?

Hoffa asked suspiciously, "What are you smiling about?"

The goblin adjusted his glasses and smiled. "That's the situation, but there's been a bit of an accident."

"What accident?" A bad feeling rose in Hoffa's heart.

"The surprise is that this guy has been playing cards in my shop for three days—and losing for three days." Tom answered Hoffa. The bar owner folded his arms and gave a cold sneer before turning and walking away, no longer paying Hoffa any attention.

Hoffa looked at the ashamed goblin before him, then at Tom's retreating back, then at the goblins collecting money from the card table.

Hoffa felt as though several Dementors were kissing him, wisps of his soul slowly drifting out through his seven orifices.

"You mean... my enrollment subsidy—"

Yinduo said, "That's right. I have already lost it."