Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Early the next morning, just as the sky began to brighten, Hoffa woke up. Ironically, in his previous life, he wasn't exactly a model student. His grades had been average at best. He was the kind of person who'd put in just enough effort to scrape by, never exerting more than he needed to—content with an 80 rather than bothering to aim for a 90.

Yet, since arriving at Hogwarts, he found himself unexpectedly motivated to study.

Was it curiosity about magic?

Not really. It was the looming specter of World War II. Unless he managed to escape to America or Australia before the war broke out, nowhere on Earth would be safe.

Europe, in particular, was a powder keg waiting to explode.

Avoidance wasn't Hoffa's preferred way of solving problems. His only viable option was to study magic diligently before the war, hoping to acquire enough skills to protect himself in the bullet-riddled future. As for how much preparation he needed, Hoffa decided that he would at least have to thoroughly explore Hogwarts, obtain a second grand magical mastery, and collect the spell fragments. Everything else would be secondary.

A schedule had appeared on his bedside table overnight. Picking it up, Hoffa saw that Mondays were relatively light—only two classes:

Charms and Transfiguration.

The first lesson, Charms, was also the new students' introduction to their respective Heads of House, with each house having the class independently.

The second lesson, Transfiguration, was shared with first-years from the other three houses.

Hoffa vividly remembered how Harry and Ron were often late to class, and given Hogwarts' ever-changing environment, he was determined not to follow in their footsteps. So, while his roommates were still snoozing, he got up early.

The Ravenclaw communal washroom was located to the east of the dormitory and was shared by both genders. It was an immaculately clean place with three levels: the top floor reserved for prefects and the lower levels for regular students. The space was adorned with blue and teal tiles, and rows of taps carved with eagle heads lined the walls.

Although Hoffa had bought a toothbrush, he'd neglected to bring a cup. Back in London, he had decided a cup would take up too much space in his single bag, so he hadn't bothered with one.

Relying on old habits from his previous life, he figured cupping water in his hands would suffice.

As a result, he awkwardly brushed his teeth with one hand and scooped water with the other. After rinsing his mouth, he bent down to wash his face under the tap.

When he lifted his head, cheeks puffed with soapy water, the last person he wanted to see appeared in the mirror.

Aglaea.

Indeed, she had also risen early. Clutching a cup and various toiletries, she stood silently behind him in her starry blue dressing gown, resembling a ghost.

Upon witnessing Hoffa's rudimentary setup—a lone toothbrush and water cupped in his hands—her expression twisted into one of utter disdain, as though she were suffering from morning constipation.

Hoffa thought grimly about Murphy's Law: the more you want to avoid someone, the more likely they'll show up. Now the washroom contained just the two of them, making the atmosphere unbearably awkward.

Aglaea muttered disdainfully, "Barbarian."

Suppressing the urge to draw his wand and transfigure her into a crow, Hoffa calmly spat out the water, washed his face, and strode out of the washroom without a word.

At that moment, he vowed never to exchange a single sentence with this girl, no matter how much she provoked him.

After freshening up, Hoffa waited in the common room for a while.

Gradually, other students began to wake up, laughing and chatting with friends as they left the common room.

But Hoffa didn't see Miranda come down. He wondered if she had woken even earlier than he had. Deciding not to wait any longer, he headed to the Great Hall on his own. However, even at the Ravenclaw table, Miranda was nowhere to be seen.

"She must have already gone to class," Hoffa thought, sipping on his porridge. "She sure gets an early start."

Breakfast at Hogwarts felt like a hotel buffet—plentiful, satisfying, and quite delicious.

The only issue was that the diners weren't just humans.

Midway through breakfast, a flock of owls suddenly swooped down through the castle's skylights, bearing letters and packages for their respective owners.

Some young wizards managed their owls impressively well, while others (particularly the girls) had pampered their birds to the point where they boldly strutted around the communal serving dishes.

When Hoffa fished a feather out of his oatmeal, he lost his appetite, quickly packed up, and left. He feared if he lingered, he might witness the infamous spectacle of a bird "rain" in full flight.

In his previous life, Hoffa had attended schools where teachers came to the classroom. Here, however, young wizards had to learn early on how to navigate to various classrooms on their own.

After breakfast, Hoffa followed a group of older students through several corridors before finding the Charms classroom.

When he arrived, the room was empty. The walls were covered with ancient runic spells, and a large clock ticked rhythmically at the front.

Scratching his head, Hoffa realized he had plenty of time to spare. Stepping out of the classroom, he decided to use the opportunity to explore other parts of the school.

Opening his system panel, he checked his progress:

Current Realm: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WizardryExploration Progress: 0.1%

"Zero point one percent?" Hoffa was stunned. He had already visited the Black Lake, the Great Hall, the Ravenclaw Tower, and today's classroom.

"Still only 0.1%! Just how massive is this school?"

In contrast to the King's Cross Station, where a few steps could earn rewards, Hoffa realized he might not gain a second grand mastery this year.

After inspecting a few more classrooms without any change in his exploration percentage, Hoffa understood these areas were trivial compared to the vastness of Hogwarts.

In one room filled with skeletal remains and strange animal specimens, an elderly man in robes shooed him away, saying, "You're not old enough for Care of Magical Creatures yet. Off you go!"

Hoffa, having been shooed away, returned to the Charms classroom with dampened enthusiasm, thinking it was high time to prioritize learning the Disillusionment Charm.

Without the ability to turn invisible, exploring a magical school like Hogwarts was nothing more than a pipe dream. Many areas were off-limits to first-years, and with a strict headmaster like Armando Dippet, Hoffa didn't have the luxury of a savior's halo to protect him. If caught exploring recklessly, he might very well be put under probation.

After a while, students began to trickle into the classroom.

The room buzzed with excitement as the children gathered, chatting animatedly. They compared wands, eagerly probing one another for the secrets of their magical cores.

Hoffa rested his wand on his lap. Whenever someone asked about it, he casually mentioned that the core was unicorn hair. After all, it wasn't as though anyone would crack it open to verify.

The commotion lasted for about five minutes, during which Hoffa kept a close eye on the large clock in the middle of the room.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The second hand circled back to 12.

The hour hand pointed to 9.

The moment it hit 9—

Click!

The door swung open.

An elderly man in a bronze-colored robe entered the room with perfect timing. This was Professor Adalbert Goshawk, the Deputy Headmaster.

With a flick of his wand, the door shut behind him with a resounding boom. The chatter ceased instantly, and the students dared not breathe too loudly.

Looking at the professor's severe, almost caustic expression, Hoffa couldn't help but think of Flitwick, the future Head of Ravenclaw House. That tiny man would be infinitely more endearing by comparison.

Professor Goshawk stood at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. Taking a deep breath, his gray eyes swept over the new students.

"One person is missing. Who isn't here?"

The Ravenclaw students exchanged puzzled glances. Hoffa felt a pang of unease and scanned the room.

To his surprise, Miranda was absent.

"She's late? Seriously? That's not good..."

When no one answered, Professor Goshawk pulled out a sheet of parchment and began roll call.

"Aglaea Delacresse."

"Present," replied the blue-eyed girl indifferently.

"Ace Miller."

"Here!"

"Antonio Cohen."

"Present!"

"Hoffa Bach."

Hoffa quickly responded, "Here!"

...

After several names, the professor's gray eyes narrowed. "Miranda Goshawk."

No response.

Everyone in the room lowered their heads. Hoffa couldn't help but feel secondhand embarrassment.

Who knew how many people were aware that Miranda was the professor's granddaughter? She certainly wasn't doing her grandfather any favors.

However, the Deputy Headmaster remained unfazed. He set down the parchment and said slowly, "Late on the first day? Ravenclaw, fifty points deducted."

Hiss!

The entire house collectively drew in a sharp breath.

Fifty points. On the very first day. Was this man really the Head of Ravenclaw?

And it wasn't over. Professor Goshawk followed up with, "Who shares a dormitory with her?"

Among the group of bowed heads, the silver-haired girl Aglaea slowly raised her hand.

The professor's expression didn't soften. "You knew she was missing and didn't inform her. Ravenclaw, twenty more points deducted."

The students around them gawked in disbelief.

Hoffa was stunned. This old man was harsher than Snape! At least Snape deducted points from Gryffindor, not his own house. Goshawk, on the other hand, wasn't just deducting points—he was dragging others down with him.

Aglaea snapped, "I didn't call her? I did! She didn't want to come to your class! What does that have to do with me? Am I supposed to drag her here?"

But the professor didn't give her a chance to explain.

After deducting the points, he waved his wand, and all the students' books flipped open automatically.

"Charms," he began in a slow, deliberate tone, "is an exacting discipline. Unlike Potions or Transfiguration, it is an ancient art passed down orally by wizards. Only those with precision and wisdom can master it. Feel the magic with your mind and control your spells with your spirit, not just your tongue..."

Hoffa sneaked a glance at Aglaea, who sat fuming with her arms crossed. Though their house had inexplicably lost 70 points, seeing her frustration gave Hoffa a perverse sense of satisfaction.

The professor continued to lecture at length, his words steady and deliberate. Hoffa took out a quill and began scribbling notes like the rest of the class. If there was one advantage to having an adult soul, it was knowing how to act modestly.

In the realm of magic, he was nothing but a novice.

By the middle of the lesson, Miranda still hadn't shown up. Hoffa realized just how little he knew about this new friend. Beneath her calm and gentle demeanor might lurk a rebellious streak.

The first lesson didn't give Hoffa a chance to test his wand. It was a theory-heavy session, focusing on pronunciation and gestures.

And with Goshawk's strict presence, none of the students dared to experiment on their own.

After Charms class ended, Transfiguration was next. This was a joint class for all four houses, and Hoffa was full of anticipation.

Dumbledore himself was teaching the class. It was a rare privilege, possible only in this era. In a few years, the great wizard would become Headmaster, and aside from Harry Potter, no other student would ever have such an opportunity.

Excited by the thought, Hoffa quickened his pace.

Suddenly, a lazy voice drawled beside him.

"Dumbledore's class... I'm so looking forward to it!"

Hoffa turned his head, and there she was—Miranda.

Carrying a stack of books, she appeared out of nowhere, as if she'd Apparated. Her once sleek black bob was now a disheveled mess, like a bird's nest. Dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept well.

Had she spent the entire morning sleeping?

Ravenclaw students nearby glared daggers at her, their eyes practically ablaze.

Aglaea, in particular, looked furious. Her face darkened as she drew her wand.

She took a step forward, her eyes full of murderous intent, nearly piercing through Miranda.

Sensing a disaster brewing, Hoffa quickly shoved Miranda into a nearby corridor.

In a low voice, he said, "Are you insane? Yesterday you told me not to defy your grandfather during class! And now this? Ravenclaw lost 70 points in one lesson—50 because of you and 20 because of Aglaea!"

Miranda's eyes widened. "Aglaea got points docked too?"

"Because she didn't drag you out of bed!" Hoffa whispered angrily. "Next time you want to sleep in, at least show up to class to do it!"

Miranda shrugged nonchalantly.

"Ugh, these people are so uptight. Just earn the points back—what's the big deal? And honestly, it's not like the House Cup is edible. Why get so worked up over it?"

With that, she casually pushed open the corridor door.

To their surprise, the corridor had somehow transformed into the entrance of a lavatory.

The previous passage had vanished, and during their brief conversation, the entire layout had shifted.

Hoffa stood there, dumbfounded. He had no idea what was going on, but he certainly didn't want to be late for Dumbledore's first class and leave a bad impression.

Miranda's expression turned slightly serious. She asked, "What day is it today?"

Hoffa frowned. "Monday. You're completely out of it, aren't you?"

"Damn it, Monday... These cursed magical corridors! Come on, follow me!" Without waiting for a response, Miranda pulled Hoffa into the lavatory.

She quickly surveyed the room, then yanked open the third stall. Beneath it was a deep passageway.

A secret tunnel!

Miranda beckoned to Hoffa. "Come on!"

Hoffa had no idea how Miranda knew about such a hidden path, but he had no choice but to follow her down.

As soon as they entered, Hoffa found himself sliding. The tunnel was as smooth as a playground slide, sending them hurtling down at increasing speed.

At the bottom, Hoffa crashed headfirst into Miranda's robes, and they tumbled into a heap.

In the pitch-black darkness, Hoffa had no idea what he'd collided with, but he quickly untangled himself, his face flushing.

"Lumos," Miranda muttered softly.

Her wand cast a bright light, revealing they were in a stone tunnel.

"Follow me," Miranda said calmly.

She led Hoffa through the twisting passageways at a brisk pace.

After about ten minutes of weaving through the labyrinth, they finally emerged.

They were back inside the castle, surrounded by a staircase lined with paintings. The portraits chattered amongst themselves, their voices echoing as the staircase shifted beneath their feet like restless gears.

The stairs beneath Hoffa swayed alarmingly, moving towards a solid wall as though intent on crashing into it.

Without hesitation, Miranda leapt off the staircase, grabbing onto a railing and vaulting forward.

Hoffa was too stunned to stop her, watching in horror as she leaped from the high platform. Below her was a drop of at least seven stories.

Was this girl trying to get herself killed?

(To be continued)

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