Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The Hogwarts library had always hired the most disciplined yet least gifted wizards to serve as its caretakers. Lemley Winnington was one such person—a dutiful old man who had been working there for over 40 years.

At over 60 years old, Lemley had a nagging ailment: his legs would stiffen and ache during winter, causing him to limp as he walked.

One chilly morning in November, he was dusting the bookshelves in the restricted section of the library when he suddenly heard the faint sound of pages flipping behind him.

"Hmm... Who's there?"

Lemley immediately clutched his leg and turned the corner, only to find no one there.

Frowning in thought, he suddenly cursed aloud, realization dawning.

"Bloody hell, these accursed magical books!"

The pain in his leg had soured his mood, and he began furiously dusting the shelves, slapping them as though the books themselves were his sworn enemies.

"Dusting 50,000 books every day, for just ten Galleons a month. Damn that Dippet!"

Grumbling about his boss, he didn't notice a stray feather from his duster hovering mid-air in a corner, unnaturally still.

As his complaints faded into the distance, the feather slowly floated to the ground.

In the corner, Hoffa lifted the spell concealing him, took the feather from his head, and sighed.

Once Lemley's footsteps were no longer audible, Hoffa resumed flipping through a potions book, reading it line by line.

As November progressed, the air in the castle grew colder each day. Hoffa, meanwhile, resumed his journey of learning "extracurricular" knowledge.

He hadn't intended to take risks again or break school rules so soon. After all, he'd worked hard to maintain a low profile and blend into the background as a regular student.

But now, he had no choice.

On the back of his hand, the faint gold tattoo left by Talas was siphoning off a significant portion of his magic every single day—without any predictable schedule.

Sometimes it happened during the day, sometimes in the middle of the night. But every few hours, the tattoo would drain him.

Though the rate at which it consumed his magic wasn't as severe as when it first appeared, the frequency was more than Hoffa could handle.

Originally, Hoffa's limited magic was enough to get through daily life and classes, though it left little room for combat.

Now, however, he often found himself depleted in the middle of a lesson.

The most embarrassing incident occurred during Transfiguration. Dumbledore had asked Hoffa to demonstrate turning a snake into a rope.

It should have been a simple task.

But halfway through the spell, the tattoo suddenly drained all his magic.

Dumbledore, still excited to see the final result, was bitten on the hand by the half-transformed rope-snake. His fingers swelled up like radishes.

The class erupted in laughter, and Hoffa became the butt of the joke.

Desperate for answers, Hoffa threw himself into research, combing through every book he could find to uncover the nature of the tattoo on his hand.

After two weeks of searching, he found nothing. Not a single mention of the tattoo, nor any records about Helheim or Thunderbirds.

Of course, given the steep cost he was paying, Hoffa began to fantasize about what the tattoo might offer in return.

Perhaps it purified his magic, filtering out impurities and returning it in a more refined form.

Perhaps it stored magic, releasing it in bursts during battle.

Perhaps it imbued his spells with a lightning attribute, making them more powerful.

Perhaps there was an old mentor's soul residing in the tattoo, waiting to awaken and guide him to greatness.

But...

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

All it did was devour his magic.

No feedback.

No explanation.

No reason.

It didn't matter when, where, or what he was doing—it just consumed his magic.

It was as if a struggling man, already living on the edge, suddenly found himself responsible for a ravenous, insatiable child.

Faced with the relentless drain, Hoffa had no choice but to seek a solution. Since he couldn't stop the tattoo from siphoning his magic, the only path forward was to increase his own magical reserves.

Now, Hoffa had to find a way to increase his magical power, or else he wouldn't be able to continue his studies. At this rate, not only would he be unable to fight, but graduating from his first year would also be in jeopardy.

In his desperation, Hoffa had no choice but to take another risk.

The good news was that after long, tedious, and exhausting research, Hoffa had temporarily discovered three possible ways to increase his magic.

The first was the most common and safest method: natural increase. A wizard's magical power gradually increases with time. This is a natural law. Between the ages of 14 and 17, a wizard's magic undergoes a leap, reaching its peak at around 30 years old.

However, Hoffa couldn't wait for this.

The second method involved black magic and soul transference. This method was extremely dark, and very little had been recorded about it.

Hoffa realized that if he pursued this line of research, he might end up spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. Hoffa wasn't a Dark wizard, nor did he think being one was cool. So, after learning a little about it, he abandoned this method.

The last method was the most common and widely used: potion-making to quickly restore magical power. This approach had a long history and was relatively safe.

This was why Hoffa had been spending his days in the Potions section, looking for recipes.

Hoffa had found many recipes, and not just one. He didn't even need to go to the restricted section; the common areas had many records of these recipes. These weren't forbidden potions like Polyjuice; many wizards had studied them, and the ingredients were relatively common, available in the Potions classroom.

The only issue was that these recipes were very old—ancient, even—and incomplete. Most of the books were vague, and many just summarized the recipes in general terms.

As for the reason, Hoffa found an explanation in a book titled The Modern Application of Ancient Potions.

(Secondary Magic Restoring Potion: This potion is a patented product of the European Wizard's Union, classified as a Level 2X stimulating drug by the Ministry of Magic. Registration at St. Mungo's is required for use. Not for public record.)Patent, stimulant, regulation.

Hoffa rubbed his chin as he read in the library. He hadn't anticipated this issue, but it made sense.

There were certainly other wizards with low magical reserves besides him, and truly skilled wizards were rare. The market for such potions must be huge, and when there's demand, monopolists come into play.

It was clear that someone had turned this potion recipe into a business secret. Hoffa thought how clever the person was for doing so.

This was like searching for information about Coca-Cola online—while you can find all sorts of facts about Coca-Cola, the actual recipe is hard to come by. Even if you find it, it's hard to recreate the taste.

In the wizarding world, there were many similar products. Take Floo powder, for instance. Its recipe was simple, yet for over 600 years since its invention in the 13th century, no one had been able to replicate it.

Potion-making was a precise science—miss by a tiny bit, and it could go horribly wrong.

Unable to find more in the library, Hoffa didn't give up. He wrote down the incomplete old potion recipes on parchment, thinking maybe he should spend more time studying Potions.

Although he wasn't particularly gifted in Potions, he believed that trying was always better than doing nothing.

As Hoffa walked out of the restricted section, still thinking about how to overcome his magical shortcomings in Potions, he glanced down at the parchment with the incomplete recipes.

Suddenly, by the entrance of the library, Hoffa caught a flash of silver. He saw someone turning the corner—someone with their head down, walking briskly.

It was Aglaea.

She hadn't gone to play Quidditch today and was actually in the library, apparently looking for something. She was holding a thick roll of parchment in her hand.

When they saw each other, both stepped to the side, as if two drivers about to collide. The peaceful air around them became tense.

A few seconds later...

"What are you looking at?"

Aglaea shot Hoffa a fierce glare and subtly tucked the roll of parchment into her pocket.

Hoffa shrugged and changed direction.

Hmph!

Aglaea lifted her chin proudly and changed direction as well.

What bad luck, Hoffa thought.

But just as he took a few more steps, Hoffa suddenly stopped, turned, and looked at Aglaea's slender back. A plan sprang into his mind without warning.

Wait, this person seems to have some expertise in Potions.

…

On Friday, Slughorn's Potions class.

After finishing the required Potions lessons for the day, Slughorn gave the students some time to study on their own.

While it was called self-study, it was really just a chance for students to brew a potion as part of their daily practice.

This part wasn't part of Snape's classes, nor had it been in Slughorn's previous ones.

But ever since Aglaea became a student, Slughorn had inexplicably introduced this element. He claimed it was a platform for students to showcase themselves, but in reality, it was an opportunity for Aglaea to show off.

The old man did everything he could to get on the good side of this Potions prodigy.

Aglaea didn't disappoint. Every Potions lesson, she managed to concoct something new, earning Slughorn's praise and boosting Ravenclaw's score.

Of course, when this segment came around, the other students could only watch in silence. No matter what they brewed, Slughorn wouldn't care. All they had to do was cheer and say "666" at the end of the lesson.

Although the Potions professor didn't care, the other students still had to brew.

As the supporting characters, they paired up.

Aglaea was paired with Tom Riddle.

Hoffa, on the other hand, was with Miranda at a workbench.

Hoffa was responsible for chopping ingredients, while Miranda was in charge of casting spells on the potion.

Miranda's grades were nothing to write home about. She was mediocre at Potions and Transfiguration, and her Astronomy and Divination were equally ordinary. Her Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts were just as average.

After pairing with her, Hoffa's Potions grades no longer caught Aglaea's attention.

In class, while chopping Moira Tentacles, Hoffa was thinking about the magical potion recipes.

Without a doubt, Slughorn, with his vast network of connections, must know about the magical potion recipes.

Hoffa glanced up at Slughorn.

He saw Slughorn's plump body standing next to Aglaea, constantly offering admiring clucks and gazing at her with a look of adoration and indulgence, as if even her farts smelled sweet.

Riddle, the one assisting her, also had a courteous expression, though Hoffa couldn't tell if it was genuine.

Hoffa lowered his gaze again. This approach with Slughorn wouldn't work. Ever since the last Potions class, the old man hadn't even remembered Hoffa's name.

Besides, Potions was one of Aglaea's strong subjects.

Although Hoffa had been keeping a low profile lately and she hadn't been mocking him, that didn't mean she wasn't paying attention.

If Hoffa dared to stand out and try to curry favor with Slughorn or reveal any hidden motives, Aglaea's personality would undoubtedly backlash. She would quickly suppress him again.

She was like the alpha wolf in a pack. Anyone in her territory who dared to challenge her leadership would be ruthlessly put down until they submitted.

But now wasn't the time to lay low. For the sake of his magic and to pass this semester and graduate safely, Hoffa needed to stir things up a little.

(End of chapter)

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