Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Hoffa sliced the Morat tendrils into small pieces and tossed them into the cauldron.

The clear water in the cauldron instantly turned red—one of the ingredients for a magical recovery potion.

Miranda, focused intently on the potion textbook, mumbled incantations under her breath like a chanting monk while stirring the crimson liquid.

Seeing Hoffa throw in the Morat tendrils, Miranda froze.

"Hey, Hoffa, aren't we supposed to be making Shrinking Potion today?"

Hoffa whispered, "Yeah, but that's boring. I've been working on a new recipe lately—super fun. Let me take over."

"Uh... okay."

Miranda adjusted her glasses and swapped places with Hoffa.

Taking the cauldron, Hoffa began directing Miranda to chop various ingredients from the potions classroom.

Meanwhile, he dumped the prepared ingredients into the cauldron recklessly, paying no attention to proper measurements or ratios.

Of course, this haphazard approach was bound to fail. With each ingredient splashing into the pot, the cauldron's contents grew increasingly bizarre in color.

Miranda continued chopping while casting concerned glances at the boiling cauldron, which had started to emit ominous hissing sounds.

In a low voice, she said, "Hoffa, I've never seen a potion made like this. Are you making soup?"

"Shh, don't talk. Help me chop the daisy roots."

"Fine."

After a few more additions, the liquid in Hoffa's cauldron began bubbling furiously, its color as erratic as a lunatic's expression, and a burnt shoe odor filled the air.

The other students nearby couldn't help but wrinkle their noses.

As the potion showed increasingly abnormal signs, a bewildered Miranda pulled out her wand, ready to intervene.

But it was too late.

With a thunderous boom, the cauldron erupted.

Hoffa grabbed Miranda and leaped back, dodging the wildly spraying liquid. The entire potions classroom turned their heads, pinching their noses.

Professor Slughorn, who had been engrossed in watching Aglaia perform, jerked his head up sharply. His brows knitted together as he marched to Hoffa's table. Pinching his nose, he leaned in to inspect the cauldron and roared,

"What is this abomination? Hoffa, explain yourself!!"

The cauldron was spewing multicolored liquid that sizzled as it dripped off the table, growing strange, exotic branches upon hitting the floor.

Hoffa darted his eyes around nervously, looking utterly lost, like a hapless Neville. He was waiting.

Barely a second passed when, as if someone had pressed a remote, an inevitable reaction occurred.

"Humph, a failed secondary magical recovery potion!"

A cold, mocking voice rang out from the back of the room, and Hoffa's heart leapt with delight.

Ah, she took the bait!

"It's just a botched recovery potion. Honestly, Bach, did you really think you could pull off something like this? Know your limits."

The moment the potions class princess, Aglaia, spoke, the room fell silent.

Arms crossed, her face held an expression of disdain and impatience. Yet the excitement and glee in her eyes were unmistakable.

Hoffa retorted indignantly, "What I brew is none of your business!"

"Hah? You think you're capable of this? Spare me the embarrassment, will you?"

Aglaia pushed aside the students blocking her path and strode confidently to Hoffa's cauldron. With a flick of her wand, the bubbling contents instantly settled.

"Morat tendrils, lionfish spine powder, porcupine quills, armadillo bile, and a touch of Falin root."

She tilted her head and listed every single ingredient Hoffa had used, as if reciting a menu.

"Tsk tsk, Hoffa~ Are you an 18th-century wizard? Using such outdated methods—and failing so miserably at it!"

This time, Hoffa didn't get angry. Instead, he was secretly delighted. If she wanted to show off, he'd let her.

"Oh, really," Hoffa sneered dismissively. "Talking like you're all that. If you think you're so great, go ahead and show us!"

Aglaia's excitement only grew, her eyes gleaming with a sharp, almost predatory light.

"Show you? Fine, I'll show you! I can beat you with one hand tied behind my back!"

She shoved Miranda aside with a flourish and eagerly snatched the stirring rod from her stunned hands.

"Watch closely! If it were me, I wouldn't use so much red mouse fur. Morat tendrils in this potion serve only to neutralize pain, not to enhance resistance. What's the point of using so much?"

Her hands flew to the supply cabinet, deftly selecting various ingredients. She worked with astonishing speed, slicing, dissecting, and tossing materials into the cauldron with skill that dazzled the onlookers.

(One minute later)

"And that little bit of armadillo bile? What good does that do? Haven't you paid attention in class? As an intellect-boosting ingredient, armadillo bile requires a minimum dosage of 250 milliliters to be effective."

(One minute later)

"And you added porcupine quills without processing them first? What were you thinking? This technique was abandoned by French wizards back in 1821. Where on earth did you dig up this outdated recipe?"

(One minute later)

"And all that daffodil root powder—are you trying to poison someone? Do you even understand how toxic it is? Honestly, I have no idea how you've managed to achieve your grades."

(One minute later)

"Honestly, Hoffa, you really need to work on your practical skills. At this rate, I wonder if you'll even graduate from your first year."

Aglaia was fully immersed in her performance, reveling in the pleasure of showing off her knowledge. Her eyes sparkled with pride, utterly oblivious to Hoffa's expression.

At that moment, Hoffa wasn't paying the slightest attention to her taunts. Instead, he was entirely focused, employing his meditation technique. His mind was like a spider's web, meticulously sensing every change in the potion.

The magical recovery potion was far more complex than any he'd brewed before. He had to concentrate fully, ensuring he missed no detail.

Finally, after an indeterminate amount of time, under the stunned gazes of their classmates, all the ingredients in Aglaia's hands transformed into rows of neatly prepared vials.

Holding three small glass tubes aloft, Aglaia scanned the room with a triumphant gaze, puffing out her chest. She couldn't conceal her pride.

"Of course, recovery potions, being one of the most widely used and specialized wizarding concoctions, require a final ratio adjustment to complete."

She stretched out the moment, drawing everyone's attention.

"I dare say, this ratio is known to only a handful of people in the world."

Raising her hand dramatically, Hoffa's focus intensified to the extreme.

"The ratio must be—"

"Ahem!"

Suddenly, a deliberate cough from the crowd interrupted her grand monologue, breaking both her flow and the awestruck silence of the class.

Turning around, they saw Professor Slughorn approaching.

Hoffa's expression immediately darkened.

Slughorn. Why had this old man appeared now?

Slughorn, wearing a mix of amazement and caution, looked at Aglaia and said, "That's enough, child. You don't need to continue."

Aglaia frowned at the potion in her hand, clearly displeased at having her performance interrupted.

"What's the meaning of this?" she asked irritably, showing no regard for her teacher's authority.

Slughorn didn't respond to her directly. Instead, he turned to Hoffa with a serious expression.

"Bach, I admire your adventurous spirit, but this is a Ministry-regulated potion—classified as a stimulant. You'd best not attempt it again. If you want some, you'll have to register with St. Mungo's."

Around them, students snickered quietly, as if using recovery potions were some sort of scandal.

Turning back to Aglaia, Slughorn smiled indulgently. "Your technique was extraordinary—practically an art form. However, this potion is protected by patent law. I can't allow you to work on it in class. If word got out, the school would be held accountable, and that wouldn't be good. But if you're interested, I could arrange for you to visit the Ministry's Potion Control Department."

After a lengthy stream of flattery, Slughorn managed to mollify Aglaia. She stuffed the potion into her pocket, huffed coldly, crossed her arms, and walked off.

Hoffa clenched his teeth in frustration.

It seemed that Potions class was cursed for Hoffa. Just one final step, and Slughorn had to intervene halfway through. Now he knew the full recipe, but not the crucial final proportions—a maddening predicament.

After Potions class ended, Aglaia walked out sullenly. Although Slughorn had praised her potion-making talent, she hadn't completed the potion.

Slughorn's constant praise had long since lost its charm. In fact, it was starting to irritate her.

She wanted more. She wanted to truly earn the respect of others—especially that arrogant guy.

But half-finishing the potion wasn't enough to make him bow his head.

Sure enough, Hoffa drifted past her, not even sparing her a glance.

Aglaia laughed and chatted with her sycophants, but the corner of her eye was locked onto him.

Unbelievable! He still ignored me! Does he think I can't brew a complete magical recovery potion?

I can do it. I just missed that one tiny step.

One tiny step!

The more Aglaia thought about it, the angrier she became.

Finally, she pushed her entourage aside and followed Hoffa.

Life was about proving one thing: I am better than you.

Damn you, Slughorn! Just one tiny bit more!

Hoffa walked quickly, pulling out a quill and a piece of parchment as he went.

Though he had a sharper mind and better memory than most, memorizing such a long recipe and all its details was no easy task.

He had to jot it all down as he recalled it, to avoid forgetting any critical elements.

Finding an empty classroom, Hoffa bit down on his quill and parchment as he hurried inside. He grabbed a random seat and started writing feverishly.

Aglaia had been trailing him and reached the door, ready to barge in and demand to know if he doubted her skills.

But then she saw him furiously scribbling something.

Huh? What's he writing?

Aglaia paused at the doorway, momentarily frozen. Then her eyebrows knit together tightly.

She wasn't stupid—far from it. Earlier, caught in the frenzy of proving herself, she hadn't paid attention to Hoffa's unusual behavior.

For over a month, he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Why, today of all days, had he chosen to attempt a Level 2X potion?

And why hadn't he gone back to the common room with that peacemaker Miranda after class? Why was he here, furiously jotting notes?

Rubbing her pointed chin, Aglaia's frown slowly turned into a sly smile.

Smack!She punched her palm in realization.

"Hah! That scoundrel is stealing my work!"

Aglaia couldn't suppress her initial glee, but her expression quickly darkened.

"How dare he use me like this? He must have some ulterior motive. Hmph."

She cast a dangerous glare at Hoffa inside the classroom.

Inside, Hoffa was still immersed in recording the potion recipe when he was struck by a sudden chill. It felt like he was being watched by a malevolent spirit, sending shivers down his spine.

He immediately looked up and scanned the doorway.

But there was nothing there.

(End of chapter)

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