Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Raymond's words made Hoffa widen his eyes in disbelief.

"Relax," Raymond chuckled. "Don't make that face. I can repair the watch. It's just missing a magical crystal. However, I don't have the time to procure one for you at the moment."

While speaking, Raymond pulled out a quill and swiftly scribbled something on a piece of paper.

"Here's what you can do—go to the Casablanca Wizard Auction Market and get yourself a few magical crystals. Once you have them, bring them back, and I'll assemble the watch for you. How does that sound?"

He handed the note to Hoffa.

Hoffa took it and glanced at the paper, feeling his cheeks heat up. It listed the exact location of the market and the contact person.

"Do I need money for this?"

"Of course you need money," Raymond said, his eyes widening. "The auction house isn't a charity. Magical crystals are rare these days. Hardly anyone uses them anymore."

Hoffa sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't have any money."

"No money?"

Raymond chuckled in disbelief. "It's not that expensive. A single magical crystal only costs 20 Galleons. A basic crystal can last over a year."

Twenty Galleons wasn't exorbitant, but Hoffa knew he had less than one Galleon to his name. Where was he supposed to find twenty?

"I don't have twenty Galleons," Hoffa admitted honestly.

For a moment, silence fell. The witch handling registration raised her eyebrows and shot Hoffa a sidelong glance. A nearby wizard, wearing a Spanish pointed hat and twirling his mustache, looked over in surprise.

The atmosphere grew awkward. Raymond, seated behind the counter, sensed something amiss, while even Olsiviah's lips twitched slightly—a rare display of emotion.

"What did you say?" Raymond asked, incredulous.

Hoffa grabbed the watch and strapped it back onto his wrist.

"I said I don't have money. I thought your watches came with a warranty."

"Who warranties a product for a hundred years?!"

Raymond exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Besides, this watch was a gift from my father to Dippet—it wasn't even sold to him!"

"Enough. Let it go," Hoffa sighed, feeling frustrated. It was a miscalculation on his part. Still, he couldn't blame Dippet—after all, he hadn't been forced to come. Ultimately, poverty was the root of all trouble. Hoffa realized he'd have to find work sooner than planned. Otherwise, this trip to Morocco would be a complete waste.

He turned to Raymond. "Do you know of any jobs around here?"

Raymond, regaining his composure, snapped his fingers. "What are you good at?"

"Uh…" Hoffa glanced at Olsiviah before answering. "Transfiguration."

"Transfiguration?"

Raymond pondered for a moment, then pulled out a long list from beneath the counter. After moistening his fingers, he quickly flipped through the pages.

Finally, he shook his head.

"Tsk. Transfiguration doesn't pay much. Are you skilled in potions or herbology? I've got some potion-making gigs that are quite lucrative."

Hoffa shook his head.

Potion-making? That would be something Aglaia would enjoy, but Hoffa's own skills in that area were subpar.

"No?"

Raymond frowned slightly. After thinking for a moment, he kicked off the counter, sending his chair sliding backward across the floor.

"Nancy! Nancy!"

He called out in a thick French accent.

"What?"

A dark-skinned young girl dragging a mop emerged from the hall.

"Has anyone been assigned to that Spencer boy's job yet?"

"No, he still hasn't found the right person," Nancy replied loudly.

The old man slid his chair back into place and looked at Hoffa.

"I've heard wizards skilled in Transfiguration are good at adapting to different situations. Is that true for you?"

Before Hoffa could respond, Olsiviah frowned. "What a joke. He just graduated his first year."

"Hmm, that's true," Raymond said, looking a bit disappointed.

"Wait."

Hoffa quickly drew his wand and tapped the hookah pipe in front of Raymond.

In an instant, the metal pipe transformed into a Damascus steel dagger. Then, just as swiftly, the dagger reverted into the hookah pipe, still silently emitting white smoke.

The surrounding wizards gasped softly. The woman managing the guest registry covered her mouth in surprise, and even Olsiviah looked at Hoffa with newfound seriousness.

"What's the job? How much does it pay?" Hoffa asked calmly as he stepped back.

Raymond, still staring at his hookah pipe in amazement, finally spoke.

"The job? It's not difficult. The payment is 50 Galleons. I have a student from Beauxbatons who wants to visit his home. His family is in Andorra, near the Spain-France border. Due to some... unusual circumstances, his family can't pick him up. So, I need someone to escort him to the train station in Barcelona, Spain."

Barcelona. The name sounded familiar to Hoffa.

"Can't he travel on his own?" Hoffa asked, curious.

"Oh, about that." Raymond took a drag from his hookah, his expression turning serious. "The boy is disabled. He needs a wheelchair to get around, so we need someone patient and resourceful to accompany him."

A child. Disabled. Barcelona, Spain. Fifty Galleons.

Hoffa considered it for a moment. This seemed like a job he could handle. Spain and Morocco were only separated by the Strait of Gibraltar. If he could cross the strait, all he'd need was a train to Barcelona.

"No," Olsiviah suddenly interjected. "You're not allowed to go."

Hoffa turned to her, puzzled. "What? Why not?"

"Because I promised Headmaster Dippet I'd keep you safe. If you go to Spain, I can't follow," she said calmly.

"And what about my watch?" Hoffa gestured to his wrist. "Are you going to pay for the repairs?"

"My money is for the ticket to get back home. It's not enough to buy you a magical crystal," she replied.

"Exactly," Hoffa said.

"No." Olsiviah firmly rejected his suggestion. She turned to Raymond. "Thank you for the offer, but we'll have to decline."

With that, she grabbed a key from the table, took Hoffa by the wrist, and marched up the spiral staircase toward the upper floors.

Hoffa tried to break free twice, but it was futile. Her slim, pale fingers were like iron clamps—unyielding.

At that moment, Hoffa truly understood how rigid this companion of his could be. Was she a robot?

Their accommodation was a suite on the third floor with two bedrooms, a fireplace, a living room, sofas, and a wine rack. The floor was covered with a plush purple carpet, giving the place an air of luxury.

As soon as they entered the suite, Hoffa shook off Olsiviah's grip with all his strength.

"Hey, Senior, what's the meaning of this?"

"You need to stay here with me," Olsiviah said stubbornly.

"I need that money," Hoffa said, trying to reason with her. "Not just to fix the watch. If I don't have money, I won't even be able to afford textbooks next year."

"You're that poor?"

"Orphan," Hoffa replied, playing the pity card.

But Olsiviah merely lowered her eyes. "You can write to the school for financial aid."

"I don't want second-hand books," Hoffa retorted immediately. "I can earn enough to buy new books and robes."

"Sorry, rules are rules," Olsiviah said firmly. "You must stay in the hotel."

Hoffa's expression darkened. "It's summer break, Senior. This isn't Hogwarts."

"I don't know how you've been avoiding the Ministry's Trace, but as per regulations, underage wizards are not allowed to perform magic outside school during the holidays. You've already broken that rule several times."

There was a brief silence.

Hoffa spread his hands, bewildered. "This isn't Britain."

"France's Ministry of Magic has the same regulation."

Hoffa stared into those emerald-green eyes of hers, and she calmly looked back at him.

There was no doubt about it—this woman was serious.

"Ok."

"Ok." Hoffa raised his hand. "So what do you think I should do these days?"

"First, you can't leave the hotel because it's unsafe outside. If you go out, anything could happen."

Olsiviah raised one finger, almost matter-of-factly. "Every morning, I'll wake you up for breakfast. In the afternoon, I might go to work. In the evening, I'll come back. During that time, you need to stay safe."

"Oh~"

Hoffa nodded as if it suddenly made sense.

"So I'm just supposed to hang out in the room all day? Just eat, sleep, and repeat?"

Hoffa pointed towards the large pool downstairs, where a number of men and women were sunbathing by the water.

Olsiviah glanced at Hoffa's gesture.

"No."

"No?"

"That pool is one point eight meters deep; it's for adults only. It's not safe for you." Olsiviah replied calmly. "At least, not until I'm free."

"Hah."

Hoffa gave a short, bitter laugh. His foot tapped the ground rapidly, and he clenched his fingers in frustration on the sofa. Headmaster Dippet certainly found him a good companion.

"So, for the next few days, I just stay in the room, eat, sleep, eat, sleep, wait for you to finish your tasks and then you'll take me back to London?"

After a moment of silence, Olsiviah nodded. "Correct."

"Then after we get back to London, I can do whatever I want, right?"

"Correct."

Hoffa gave her a thumbs up. "You win, as you wish."

Olsiviah seemed taken aback, perhaps not expecting Hoffa to agree so readily. But strangely, a faint smile crossed her typically rigid face.

She stood up and patted Hoffa on the shoulder. "I'm doing this for your own good. Go get some rest now, and I'll take you to dinner later."

With that, she picked up her bag and entered her room, shutting the door behind her.

Watching her fade from view, Hoffa sat on the sofa, exhaling deeply.

There was no doubt about it—Olsiviah was a dutiful woman, completely dedicated to her work and her mission.

On this, Hoffa couldn't fault her. Nor would he blame her.

But her Slytherin tendencies—her forcefulness and controlling nature—went far beyond reason. These traits were mixed with some of the underhanded qualities typical of a Slytherin, making Hoffa's headache even worse.

She wanted Hoffa to stay in the hotel, then sleep for over half a month, and only return to London when the time was up.

So stupid.

Hoffa had no intention of living like that.

According to her plan, what would happen when he got back to London? What would he eat? Where would he live without a single penny to his name?

Continue staying in the red-light district?

With the money he had on him now, he probably couldn't even afford to stay there; he'd end up sleeping like a homeless person, wrapped in newspapers in a park. If he didn't find a job soon, he might not even have anything to eat.

That kind of life was terrifying just to think about.

(End of Chapter)

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