Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Indor tugged at Hoffa's school robes as the faint flames in the tavern's fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows on the wall that formed eerie patterns. The two were locked in a tense stalemate.

Finally, Indor let go, sighing mournfully.

"In that case, just leave. Pretend we never met. Pretend I was never your friend."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hoffa narrowed his eyes.

"You think of yourself as the most important thing. Do you even know what's happening out there right now?"

"Don't start lecturing me!" Hoffa snapped back, irritated. "This is something you couldn't ask of any sensible student, and you know it. If you're that desperate to get into the school, why don't you find an older student? Didn't you mention some former collaborators?"

"They're dead! All of them are dead!" Indor waved his hand in frustration.

"The only Hogwarts student I know is you. The rest... they're all gone."

Hoffa was taken aback.

"Seriously? That's some dark luck you've got."

"Enough! Will you help me meet Dippet or not? Just give me a straight answer!" Indor began pacing back and forth, clearly agitated.

"No," Hoffa replied firmly. "I only came here to meet a friend."

With that, he crossed his legs and sat on the bed, beginning to meditate to restore his magic.

Hoffa was well aware of how strict Hogwarts was during this era. He knew it better than anyone. Newt Scamander and Rubeus Hagrid—both brilliant in their own ways—weren't spared from expulsion for breaking school rules. Mercy wasn't in the school's playbook.

Frustrated, Indor yanked at his own ears before flopping onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. His muffled voice came out, tinged with despair:

"You're so selfish!"

"Hmm. I'm a Ravenclaw," Hoffa said coolly.

Indor gave a bitter laugh, as if something had just clicked in his mind.

He sat up from the bed, exhaling sharply.

"Fine, fine. Rest up quickly. Head back to the school before it gets too dark. I'll figure out another way to meet Dippet."

Leaving Hogsmeade still required invisibility, and with the help of the Milarepa meditation technique, Hoffa's magic began to recover rapidly.

The Vanishing Spell consumed an enormous amount of energy.

Hoffa estimated that his limited magic reserves could only sustain him for about half an hour.

Having never overexerted his magic before, he had no idea how long recovery would take. All he could do was regulate his breathing and focus.

Indor didn't disturb him. He lay on the bed in silence as time ticked by.

Outside, the sky grew darker. Hogsmeade's streets became desolate, the few remaining passersby disappearing. Students had long since returned to Hogwarts.

Yet Hoffa still hadn't awakened.

Suddenly, Indor's long ears twitched, as if he had heard something. Instantly reverting to his natural goblin form, he hurried to the window. Pulling the curtain aside slightly, he peered out into the pitch-black night.

Dropping the curtain back in place, Indor glanced at Hoffa again, his expression tense as he paced the room restlessly.

Outside, a thin wisp of smoke began to drift in, seemingly out of nowhere. Slowly, it spread across the streets of Hogsmeade, creeping inexorably into the room where Hoffa and Indor were.

Indor's face paled. He knew he couldn't wait any longer.

Rushing to Hoffa's side, he grabbed his shoulders and shook him vigorously.

"Wake up, wake up, Hoffa!" he urged, his voice filled with urgency.

Pulled from his magic restoration meditation, Hoffa frowned in annoyance.

"What is it now?"

Looking visibly flustered, Indor stammered, "I didn't mention it earlier, but there's a team of German dark wizards tailing me. They must be close by now!"

Hoffa's eyes widened in shock.

"Dark wizards in Hogsmeade? Are you serious? Don't they fear...?"

Before he could finish, a wisp of milky-white smoke drifted in through the window's gap. Hoffa caught a faint burnt scent in the air.

Indor immediately clamped a hand over Hoffa's mouth and nose, whispering in terror, "Don't breathe! Water—quickly!"

Ripping two strips from the bedsheet, he shoved them at Hoffa.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Hoffa retrieved his wand and muttered, "Aguamenti."

A stream of clear water gushed from the wand's tip. Indor quickly dampened the cloth strips and tied one over his face and the other over Hoffa's.

"How many are there?" Hoffa asked grimly.

Indor tugged Hoffa to the window, pulling the curtain open just a crack.

"Three," he whispered.

Pointing outside, he added, "This mist comes from the venom sacs of a toxic leopard. It causes fatal nerve diseases—just a trace can wipe out an entire village. The only thing that weakens it is water."

His explanation sent a shiver down Hoffa's spine.

The night outside was now pitch black.

The once-bustling village had become eerily silent, veiled in a thickening fog. Peering through the window, Hoffa saw three towering figures moving slowly through the mist. They wore pointed black hoods and carried ancient-looking lanterns, their shadows flickering menacingly.

About two streets away, near a pair of brooms propped against a wall, a sudden bright flash illuminated the fog. A cacophony of shattering sounds erupted as the owl post office was blown to pieces by a spell, sending shards of stone flying.

A cold, mechanical voice cut through the mist in German:

"Er ist hier." (He's here.)

"Sucht ihn getrennt!" (Search separately!)

The strange, monotonous words sounded as though spoken by a lifeless automaton issuing orders.

Though Hoffa couldn't understand the language, the ominous tone made one thing crystal clear:

This was very, very bad.

The residents in the area showed no reaction, and there wasn't a single sound from the tavern below.

On the street, the three figures split up. One slowly approached the Two Broomsticks, while the other two headed off in different directions.

Indor leaned in close to Hoffa's ear and whispered in an extremely low voice:

"Schmidt Rothruff. A dangerous dark wizard wanted by the British Ministry of Magic, one of Grindelwald's top lieutenants. He's especially skilled in magical creature studies. Whatever you do, don't breathe in this smoke directly."

Before Hoffa could respond, one of the hooded men arrived in front of the Two Broomsticks. Holding up his lantern, he inspected the area carefully.

Peering through the narrow window gap, Hoffa noticed a large red symbol tattooed on the man's arm.

His face remained expressionless, but inwardly, he was gripped with anxiety.

This disaster magnet, Indor, had actually led people like this here.

Dark wizards were no laughing matter. Without exceptional skills, no one would dare call themselves a dark wizard.

These three had incapacitated the entire population of Hogsmeade without even raising their wands yet. There was no way a first-year student and a swindling goblin could hold their ground against them.

"Do you have any ideas?" Indor asked anxiously.

"Can't you just Disapparate?" Hoffa whispered back.

"No, I can't. Apparating creates a magical disturbance they'll instantly detect," Indor replied in a low voice. "I came by boat to avoid Apparating for that very reason. They'd follow the magical ripple and Apparate right to us. If that happens, neither of us will escape."

"What in the world have you done?" Hoffa hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing the goblin by his collar. "Did you do this on purpose!?"

"On purpose!?" Indor angrily headbutted him in response. "Do you think I'd choose to scam Gringotts, get hunted by German wizards, and end up in this mess? Are you insane? The whole world is on the brink of chaos, and you're accusing me of..."

"Alright, shut up already!" Hoffa snapped, rubbing his forehead as he turned to watch the tall figure outside, who was drawing closer and closer. His head throbbed like it was about to split.

Gritting his teeth, he said, "We can't just stay here. We have to leave immediately."

"Leave? Where to?" Indor asked.

"The secret passage under Honeydukes. We have to get to Honeydukes."

(End of Chapter)

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