Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Accompanied by a soft whisper behind his ear, the room plunged into complete darkness. In contrast, the simplistic drawings on the walls grew increasingly bright. Eventually, Hoffa found himself sitting in an abyss of darkness, with only those colorful sketches remaining before his eyes.

Hoffa remained motionless, suppressing the overwhelming tremor in his heart as he asked, "Miller, is that you?"

"How did you find this place? I thought no one could locate me." A hand touched Hoffa's chin with curiosity.

Hoffa replied, "Your grandfather."

"Ah, he's still alive? What a pity," Miller said nonchalantly.

Hoffa was speechless, but knowing Miller, he chose not to argue over family matters. Instead, he said, "Miller, I need your help. Tom Riddle has been bewitched by the Half-Blood King and has allied with him, while my magic is still—"

"Hoffa, how much do you remember from your dreams?" Miller interrupted, disregarding Hoffa's concerns.

Hoffa fell silent.

"Not talking? Do you need me to help you recall?" Miller continued. "Your dreams and your sister's dreams overlapped in some places. I experienced those places as well."

"No need, Miller," Hoffa said. His tone carried a hint of pleading, but Miller was unmoved. The arm hanging over Hoffa's chest snapped its fingers.

The colorful murals on the walls began to twist and distort, quickly transforming into another scene.

(In the scene, Hoffa saw a small, single-person apartment. Miranda was supporting a drowsy, smiling young man into the room. Clothes started piling up on the floor, and something indescribable ensued.)

Hoffa turned his head away from the intimate, passionate entanglement unfolding in the darkness. On the side of his face, black smoke swirled faintly, and the arm extended from within it.

In just a glance, the arm forcefully grasped his chin, forcibly turning his head back to face the scene on the wall.

"Do you think you can just refuse? Hoffa, come on, we're adults. What's wrong with appreciating a little art?" Miller said coldly.

Hoffa remained expressionless as Miller forced him to watch an explicit display from an unknown world. By the time he had finished, his breath had turned heavy, carrying a nasal tone.

"Do you believe in prophecies, Hoffa?" Miller asked.

"I don't believe in them," Hoffa rasped.

Ever since leaving the Death God's domain, he had stopped believing in fate. If six thousand cycles of reincarnation could be altered, then surely, he could change anything.

"Yes," Miller murmured. "But your sister does."

"I imagine you're wondering why she did those things to you in the nightmare. She's not someone who expresses her desires so openly, even if she does care for you deeply.

"But there are things you haven't seen. Your sister is a witch. No matter the circumstances, no matter how much she enjoys reading Muggle books, she is still a witch—an exceptionally powerful, normal witch. You may not believe in prophecies, but she does. She trusts in what she has glimpsed in the unseen."

"What are you trying to tell me, Miller?" Hoffa asked.

"She saw your death," Miller stated.

Hoffa froze.

The surroundings shifted again. This time, he saw the darkened Hogwarts library. Miranda sat alone in the restricted section, surrounded by thick tomes of magic. Under the dim candlelight, her face was pale, and a trace of blood lingered on the corner of her lips. She held her wand, eyes shut, murmuring an incantation. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.

In the darkness, Hoffa stood up abruptly, his heart tightening.

Miller spoke indifferently. "After you disappeared two years ago, your sister searched for you tirelessly, using every possible means, including forbidden spells—spells capable of glimpsing the future.

"Those spells took a severe toll on her, but she persisted. Unfortunately, no matter how she examined the future, the outcome remained the same."

Hoffa, face ashen, clenched his fists as he watched Miranda.

"What was the result?" he asked.

"You will die, Hoffa."

Silence.

A suffocating stillness swallowed the darkened room.

In the image on the wall, Miranda knelt among the towering tomes of the restricted section. She clutched her chest, her disheveled chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders. The flickering candlelight reflected in her dull, lifeless eyes.

Hoffa stared at her for a long time before shaking his head. "No, I won't die, Miller. Not even Death can claim me."

The image of Miranda in the library slowly faded.

Miller sighed. "I'm only telling you why your sister did what she did. That doesn't mean I believe in her prophecy. In fact, I tried to persuade her many times that the future is unpredictable, that prophecies are not always accurate.

"But she firmly believes in what she has seen.

"She saw your death and couldn't find a way to stop it. In the dream, she did those things to you—things I strongly opposed.

"She thought that by keeping you in the dream world forever, she could prevent the future she foresaw. But unfortunately, dreams couldn't hold you. What's the saying? Ah, she lost both the lady and the army. If you ask me, if you die, what does that have to do with me, right?"

Hoffa remained silent. He didn't know what kind of future Miranda had seen. However, in his past 300,000 years of reincarnation, he had indeed experienced countless cycles of death. If Miranda had foreseen those deaths, then they were already behind him.

But what if she had foreseen something else?

He quickly dismissed the thought. He didn't believe Sylby could kill him. True, his magic was far from what it once was, but it was gradually recovering. Once he regained his peak strength, not even Death could take him away. He refused to believe that anyone or anything could.

The arm at his neck slowly withdrew, and the walls reverted to their original state, adorned with childlike sketches. Gradually, the sketches faded, and the room brightened.

But just as the hand was about to leave Hoffa's shoulder, he reached out and firmly grasped it.

"What do you want?" Miller asked coldly.

"Help me," Hoffa said.

"Tch."

Miller sneered. "One shouldn't be too greedy, Hoffa. You've already gained so much. If you want to chase fate, do it alone."

"I won't die," Hoffa stated firmly.

"I don't care whether you die or not. Let go of me." Miller jerked his hand away.

Hoffa held on. "Your sister is still in Sylby's hands. No matter what, you have to bring her back."

This enraged Miller. His arm tightened around Hoffa's neck as he emerged from the black smoke, gritting his teeth. "I already told you why she's with the Half-Blood King! That has nothing to do with me. Go handle it yourself. If you die, she'll definitely come back!"

"Do you really want me dead that badly?" Hoffa asked, puzzled.

This question struck a nerve in Miller. His grip tightened as he hissed, "Damn right! You ruined my life! I was supposed to explore the world—ancient Egypt for mummies, the Far East for wildmen, South America for lost civilizations, the Arctic to swim with blue whales! Damn it! If not for you, I'd already be living my dream! I hate you! I wish you'd die a thousand times over!"

Choking, Hoffa coughed, then gradually understood. "One last time, Miller. Help me one last time. Let me kill the Half-Blood King, and you can still go on your adventures. But if you don't, even if you visit those places, all you'll find are ruins. Look at the world now—Hogwarts without magic. Do you really want to live in a world stripped of all wonder and magic?"

Miller remained silent.

Finally, he gritted his teeth and said bitterly, "For once, you're speaking like a human being. So tell me, will you definitely kill Sylby this time? Or will you hesitate like last time—"

"No!!"

Hoffa interrupted Miller decisively and repeated, "Absolutely not!!"

"Why not? I need a reason."

Miller asked immediately.

"First, I've realized how absurd his ideas are. Second, he dragged me into a nightmare and caused your sister so much suffering—I have to kill him," Hoffa declared with absolute certainty.

"Is that all?"

Miller asked.

Hoffa remained silent this time, waiting for Miller's response.

Suddenly, the arm behind his neck turned into black smoke, which then gathered on the back of his left hand, bringing with it a searing pain. A violet tattoo slowly took shape on his hand. Seeing this, Hoffa let out a breath of relief—Miller was willing to help him. This would be a powerful aid, and with it, he was confident he could quickly uncover the source of Sylby's funds.

But before he could celebrate for even two seconds, his tattooed left hand suddenly moved on its own. It lifted against his will, extending a finger directly at himself.

Just as Hoffa was trying to figure out what Miller was doing, his left hand suddenly split open to reveal a mouth. The mouth softly chanted—

"Cruciatus Carpus!"

Hoffa's expression changed drastically. At such close range, with the spell cast from his own hand, there was no way to dodge.

A flash of red light streaked past, and Hoffa collapsed to the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony. The pain from the curse, cast by a magical prodigy, was amplified several times beyond the usual effect—it was enough to make him feel as if his very intestines were being twisted into knots.

"Ahh!!"

He clutched his head and writhed on the floor.

His screams even reached downstairs. Hearing the noise, Dr. Leiner rushed upstairs in a few quick strides and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Growing anxious, Leiner banged on the door and shouted, "Bach! What's going on? What happened? Open the door!"

The excruciating pain still raged within him, but upon hearing Leiner's voice, Hoffa forced himself to get up from the floor. Leaning against the wall, drenched in cold sweat, he gritted out—

"N-Nothing! I just tripped."

Of course, Leiner was not convinced by this explanation. He asked from outside the door, "Are you sure? Bach, is there anything unusual happening?"

(Hoffa glanced at his left hand, which stuck its tongue out at him before the mouth disappeared.)

Damn bastard.

He shook his hand angrily and opened the door.

Outside stood Leiner, his face filled with concern. He looked into the room but saw nothing unusual.

"Are you really okay?" Leiner asked worriedly, noticing Hoffa's pale face.

"I'm fine." Hoffa gritted his teeth as he kicked the wall in frustration. "You should know how much that hurts." With that, he slid down the wall like a puddle of mud.

Watching Hoffa struggle down the stairs, Leiner was completely baffled. He simply couldn't understand how a wizard capable of transforming into a Thunderbird could have stubbed his toe so badly that he could barely walk.

For the next few days, Hoffa moved between Helgoland Island and the nearby towns, stocking up on food and medicine for Leiner and Adebe. In the foreseeable future, Adebe might have to hide on Helgoland Island for a long time—if his body could hold out.

Miller, however, was unimpressed by Hoffa's actions. He even selfishly suggested that they leave immediately and abandon the old man. But Hoffa still fulfilled his duty as a junior and made sure everything was properly arranged.

That night, after delivering the last batch of supplies to the ancestral home of the Gorshak family, it was already late.

By this hour, Dr. Leiner had gone to bed, and Adebe, weakened by his condition, was in a deep sleep.

Hoffa intended to leave quietly without disturbing them, but just as he set down the supplies, he saw Adebe sitting by the fireplace, his eyes open, watching him.

So, Hoffa walked over softly, crouched down, and asked in a low voice, "Professor, do you need some water?"

"Hoffa... don't let her down," Adebe pleaded as he looked at him.

Hoffa gazed at the professor, suddenly feeling as though a thousand-pound weight had settled on his shoulders. He had no words of comfort to offer, nor any answers to give. He could only squat there in silence.

Finally, he said dully, "I have to go, Professor."

Adebe kissed his forehead. "I believe you'll find a way to solve this, Hoffa."

Hoffa nodded, then turned and left, his footsteps heavy as he shut the door behind him.

The moment he stepped outside, Miller started cursing.

"That old bastard treats you better than he treats me! Are you his grandson or something, huh!?"

Hoffa said nothing. He walked toward the dock, started the small motorboat, and set off into the sea under the night sky.

The entire way, Miller kept ranting—calling Adebe a hypocrite, disgusting, cold-blooded, and accusing Hoffa of siding with outsiders.

After he ran out of insults for Adebe, he turned on Hoffa.

"Busybody, you're such a damn busybody. My grandfather doesn't need you to take care of him! You think dreams are real now? Listen to me—he's not your grandfather. Unless I hit you with the Imperius Curse, you're not allowed to treat him so well!"

"Then why did you hit me with the Cruciatus Curse?" Hoffa asked sullenly.

It was a question he had never gotten an answer to.

"Because I felt like it. What are you gonna do about it?"

Miller said coldly.

"Unbelievable," Hoffa muttered.

"Idiot."

Miller sneered.

Hoffa was left speechless.

Seeing Hoffa rendered mute, Miller seemed satisfied. He smirked and asked, "So, any plans? How do you plan to kill Sylby?"

Hoffa immediately replied, "I've always been curious about how Sylby gets so much money. Why does he always have so many resources at his disposal? I've been thinking about it these past few days. And when I saw you today, I suddenly remembered—about a month ago, when your sister was still with me, she and I raided an organ trafficking ring. The leader said they stole and sold organs for the wealthy. I think that could be a lead worth investigating."

"Is that so?" Miller said indifferently. "So, where do you plan to investigate?"

"New York Harbor," Hoffa blurted out.

"New York? Damn, that's a big jump."

Despite his words, Miller's tone sounded quite excited.

"Exactly. The organs were shipped to a distribution hub near New York Harbor. And now that Germany has just been defeated, the wealthy and powerful are all in North America. If we want to follow the money, we have to go where the money is. What do you think?" Hoffa asked.

Miller smirked. "You're the boss, brother-in-law."

Hoffa sighed. "Can you stop calling me that?"

"Sure thing, brother-in-law."

Hoffa regretted bringing it up. Now Miller was deliberately doubling down just to annoy him.

"But, brother-in-law, before you go, can you find me a body?"

"Huh?" Hoffa was puzzled. "Can't you just stay on my hand?"

"Come on, I finally got away from my sister, and you want me to stay stuck to your hand? Give me a little freedom! How about finding me a body in North America?"

Hoffa felt a massive headache coming on.

(End of Chapter)

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