Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Ten minutes later.

Hoffa and the future Dark Lord stood on the edge of the cloud base, each holding the reins of a Thestral. Alongside them were Ryan and the female vampire, bound tightly in ropes. The vampire likely already knew the fate of her family—entirely wiped out—and the complete destruction of the wizarding forces that had attacked them. Strapped to the back of a Thestral, her mouth sealed with iron chains, she glared at Tom and Hoffa with pure hatred in her eyes.

Tom no longer felt the need to talk to Hoffa. He handled the vampire like a piece of cargo, tossing her sideways onto the Thestral's back before mounting himself.

The black creature spread its large wings and descended silently toward Bournemouth below.

Ryan sat awkwardly on the Thestral, glancing nervously at Hoffa, who remained on the ground. Ryan assumed Hoffa would ride behind him, his teeth chattering with fear.

But Hoffa didn't even look at him. Without a word, he gently patted the Thestral's neck. Feeling his touch, the creature spread its wings, raised its front hooves, and dove straight downward.

The turbulent winds of the clouds whipped Ryan's hair across his face. Thousands of meters above the ground, he turned his head to glimpse a massive, four-winged bird-like shadow flashing briefly in the clouds before vanishing entirely.

He swore this was the worst day of his life—bar none. Ever since he'd met that cursed Ravenclaw, his fate had become like a broken raft tossed in stormy seas, completely out of his control.

When the two Thestrals finally touched down, Hoffa was already waiting on the ground.

They had returned to the underground city of Bournemouth. Yesterday, the place had been bustling with activity—vampires singing, feasting, and celebrating. Today, the city was eerily quiet, like a dungeon cleared out by an adventurer. Occasionally, a few patrolling wizards could be seen in the distance.

Tom Riddle dismounted his Thestral, pointing his wand at the vampire. "Finite Incantatem."

With a click, the chains binding her fell away, and the female vampire collapsed weakly to the ground.

"You'll do exactly as he says," Tom said coldly, towering over her. "Don't even think about running unless you want to suffer more before you die."

The vampire slowly pushed herself up, spitting at Tom's feet. Her defiance earned her a swift kick. Tom's polished leather boot struck her face.

"If you're hungry, let me know. Otherwise, don't make a single move," he snapped, his voice laced with irritation.

"As you wish... wizard," she replied venomously, hatred dripping from every word as she bowed submissively at his feet.

Tom withdrew his foot and turned to Hoffa. "Fine. Lead us to the Muggle who killed the vampires—if such a person even exists. Make it quick."

Hoffa pulled the vampire to her feet. "Is there anywhere in this city where someone could hide something very secret?"

Without looking at him, she dusted herself off and said coldly, "Follow me."

The group moved in silence. The vampire led the way, Hoffa followed in the middle, and Tom brought up the rear with Ryan in tow. They ventured deeper into the deserted city, disappearing into the shadows of ancient castles and structures.

Moonlight streamed through narrow windows, leaving dappled patterns of silver on their faces. When midnight struck, the vampire led them into a secluded chapel tucked away on the city's outskirts. The area was cordoned off with yellow tape left by wizard investigators, and a few wizards stood guard nearby.

Seeing the group approach, the guards stepped forward, but Tom Riddle effortlessly took charge. With just a few words, spoken with commanding authority, the wizards respectfully stepped aside to let them in.

To the guards, Tom Riddle was a paragon of virtue, destined to be a pillar of the wizarding community in the future.

Inside, the chapel was no different from the outside—stripped bare, with evidence of recent searches everywhere. Cabinets stood empty, marked with official seals.

But once inside, Hoffa immediately sensed something unusual behind a cabinet. Strangely, this wasn't due to his mental abilities but rather a new sense—he could clearly see the sealed space behind the furniture as though it were transparent.

Sure enough, the vampire moved to the cabinet, pressing and pushing until it flipped around, revealing a narrow passageway.

Tom Riddle remained where he was, gesturing for Hoffa to go first.

Seeing no immediate danger, Hoffa followed the vampire into the hidden chamber. It was a square storage room with fur rugs on the floor, a set of sofas, and a desk.

At the center of the desk lay an open notebook, its pages yellowed and rough, filled with intricate script in an elegant, unfamiliar font.

To the left of the notebook was a neat stack of seven or eight books, while on the right, a wall featured gray-white pipes connected to a sconce-style lamp.

The lamp had a classical Western design, its inner glass layer encased by a black metal grille.

Below the unlit lamp was a black inkwell radiating a faint red glow, its surface embossed with a blurred crescent moon design.

Seeing that symbol, Hoffa instinctively touched his chest. Above them, the ceiling featured a beautiful stained-glass window depicting three moons, through which moonlight streamed, illuminating the right side of the room.

That light fell on a bookshelf filled with artifacts.

The bottom shelf was piled with scrolls—oil paintings from the Renaissance period. Nearby, shelves held items like Swiss watches, Chinese ceramics, South American sculptures, and even Japanese ukiyo-e prints.

The top shelf held a glass bottle containing a meticulously crafted miniature warship floating in blue liquid. In the moonlight, the ship gleamed with a mesmerizing beauty that made Hoffa pause and admire it.

The Ship in the Bottle.

"These were my father's treasures," the vampire said coldly from the center of the room. "Some were stolen, others gifted. Take whatever you want."

Tom Riddle untied Ryan, his interest piqued as he began rummaging through the room. One moment, he picked up a watch; the next, he examined a painting.

But Hoffa was uninterested. These priceless treasures meant nothing to him. He thought the vampire had misunderstood his intentions. He wasn't looking for treasures; he was searching for Mans' hiding place.

"Isn't there somewhere here where someone could hide? If someone wanted to stay out of sight, where would they go?" he asked the vampire.

"Who should I ask if I don't know myself? This is the most hidden place I know," the vampire sneered, her tone laced with mockery. Then, as if deriving satisfaction from the situation, she cracked a malicious grin. "No brilliant schemes to find someone this time, Wizard?"

"Strange."

Hoffa ignored her sarcasm and fell into thought. Mance had taken the nun and the group of French refugee children, clearly preparing for something significant.

Whatever his plan, it required resources and space. This was the physical world, after all. It wasn't as though he could sustain everyone without food or water. If that were his intent, he might as well have killed them all from the start. Hoffa concluded that someone as shrewd as Mance would never make such a foolish move.

After combing through the room's treasures, Tom Riddle's expression turned to one of mild disappointment. Evidently, these Muggle artifacts failed to meet his standards. Tossing a diamond-encrusted watch to the floor with disdain, he remarked, "So that's it? Seems your so-called remarkable Muggle officer isn't here."

"Give me a little more time," Hoffa said seriously.

"Suit yourself. I'm in no rush to leave."

Tom dropped into a chair behind a mahogany desk, his legs crossed and wand spinning idly in his fingers. "I rather like it here—there's still some treasure to enjoy. Feel free to keep looking."

Hoffa glanced at Ryan, who was staring at him intently. When their eyes met, Ryan quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, unwilling to make any connection.

"Fine. Wait here," Hoffa instructed Tom. "Don't go anywhere."

With that, he left the hidden room alone, wandering the castle aimlessly. He started in the kitchen, where machines for draining blood sat encrusted with stains. Chains hung from the ceiling, where live bodies had likely been suspended. But now, the hooks were empty. The wizard investigators had been thorough, clearing out all the corpses and blood slaves within days.

Next, he explored the theater, the reception hall, and various bedrooms. All were barren, leaving him feeling as though he were searching for a needle in a haystack. Doubt began to creep into his mind—was this search even meaningful?

Eventually, his aimless steps brought him back to the treasure room. The scene remained unchanged. Tom lounged in a red leather chair once occupied by vampires, his air one of detached amusement. The female vampire and Ryan each stood in separate corners, the vampire glaring at Ryan, who remained fixated on the floor.

"Find anything?" Tom asked lazily, still reclined in his chair.

Hoffa shook his head. "Nothing."

"How utterly shocking," Tom mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hoffa had grown numb to Tom's jeering. It didn't matter; his focus remained on the figure who had literally pierced his heart.

Had Mance already left the city?

If so, Hoffa feared he might never recover the nun.

But then again, that seemed unlikely.

The underground city's exit stood hundreds of meters above the ground, with a vast vacuum separating it from the surface. Mance was a Muggle with no magical abilities, no means of flight, and no capacity for Apparition. How could he possibly have climbed out? Flying a plane was even more far-fetched.

Could he have blended in with the wizard investigators? Even so, the massive wound on his chest would have raised alarms. Covering it wouldn't make him or his group of people any less conspicuous.

Hoffa rejected each theory as it came to mind. Frustrated and lost, he considered using the glass orb to consult the entity that called itself the Nightmare God.

However, the creature inside the orb appeared dormant, curled into a black seed, unresponsive to his call.

Lowering the orb, Hoffa's gaze shifted to another glass object in the room: the ship in the bottle on the display shelf.

Approaching it, Hoffa bent down for a closer look. The model ship inside was exquisitely detailed, almost unnervingly so. Its masts and cannons were rendered with stunning precision, and even a minuscule lifeboat, no larger than a grain of rice, rested beside it.

The more Hoffa examined it, the more familiar it seemed.

This wasn't just any ship.

It was the Scharnhorst, the very battleship Ethan Dominic had commanded on the high seas.

A spark of realization lit up Hoffa's mind, and he grinned viciously.

"Well, that's clever," he muttered. "You really know how to hide."

Without hesitation, he reached out and removed the cork sealing the bottle.

Tom, still idly spinning his wand and picking at his nails behind the mahogany desk, suddenly found himself hit by a violent gust of wind. The force flipped his chair backward, and the wind carried an irresistible pull. Like an invisible Portkey, it dragged everyone in the hidden room—Hoffa, Tom, Ryan, and the vampire—into the void.

(End of Chapter)

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