Harry Potter: I am the Legend

At 6 PM, the two sat in silence, having dinner on the first floor of the hotel. Neither exchanged a word throughout the meal. Once finished, Hoffa returned to his suite without a word.

Lying on the bed, he mulled over his upcoming plans.

At 8 PM, a knock on the door broke the stillness.

Hoffa was slightly surprised. "Come in," he said.

The door opened, revealing Olsivia, freshly showered and dressed in a green robe. She carried something in her hand, her appearance clearly that of someone preparing for bed.

Her damp hair was meticulously wrapped in a night cap, showing her usual precision.

"Do you mind if I come in?" she asked.

Hoffa shook his head and adjusted his blanket slightly.

She sat down on the edge of his bed, and the subtle scent of shampoo filled the air. Hoffa keenly noticed the green necklace on her pale chest, faint veins visible underneath. The necklace radiated a mysterious magical energy.

Olsivia spoke. "About what happened during the day—I hope you don't take it to heart. My job is more complicated than you might think."

Hoffa replied absentmindedly, "Hmm."

"But to thank you for cooperating with my work," she continued, "as a small gesture, would you like to hear a story?"

As she spoke, she raised her arm, shaking a book illustrated with a small pig.

Peter Swion's Story Collection.

Hoffa nearly choked. Is she planning to tell me a bedtime story? How young does she think I am?

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Hoffa waved his hand dismissively.

"You should get some rest instead."

Olsivia froze for a moment, apparently not expecting such a straightforward refusal.

"Are you upset?"

"Of course not," Hoffa replied with a strained smile.

"Well then." She stood, walking toward the door to turn off the light switch.

"Stay in the hotel and don't wander around. Understand?"

"Got it."

"Good night."

"Wait, Olsivia," Hoffa called out suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask—when are we heading back?"

"Mid-July to August, once I finish my tasks here."

"Alright. Good night."

The room fell into complete darkness with a soft click.

Half an hour later, the room's light flickered back on.

This time, Hoffa was fully dressed, standing by the bed. In truth, he had never changed into sleepwear. Grabbing his backpack, he slung it over his shoulder. Holding his socks and shoes, he walked quietly to the door.

Hoffa paused at the door handle, pondering for a moment. If someone like Olsivia was sent by Dipett to handle an unknown task, her abilities must be formidable.

If it were me, he thought, I'd definitely set up defensive spells at the door to guard against unexpected events.

Sure enough, Hoffa opened his mental field to sense his surroundings.

Near the exit, he felt a faint magical aura—likely a detection charm. In addition, a small green serpent was slithering slowly in the corner of the living room. If he left now, the snake would undoubtedly detect him instantly.

"As expected, you've got some tricks, Olsivia," Hoffa muttered softly.

"Phantom Walk!"

He opened the door, and his entire form vanished from the material world. The magical disturbances couldn't hinder him in the slightest, and the green snake was entirely unaware of his presence.

Calmly, he passed through two doorways and navigated Olsivia's protective spells, arriving silently in the hotel corridor. The moment he stepped out, he slipped on his shoes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and hurried down the staircase.

Hoffa wasn't sure if Olsivia would come looking for him, but he wanted to finalize the work matter as quickly as possible. If he got caught and dragged back, sneaking out again wouldn't be so easy.

Reaching the reception desk where he'd been earlier, Hoffa found that Raymond had already left for the day. The only person there was a hefty Black woman mopping the floor, her waistline about five times the width of Hoffa's.

He rushed over to her and asked urgently, "Where's Raymond? Where is he?"

The enormous woman slapped her mountainous chest, blurting out an indecipherable string of gibberish, her expression like she'd just swallowed a cockroach.

Hoffa grew impatient and pointed to the counter. "Raymond. Raymond Lebrun!"

The woman waved him off irritably, babbling animatedly in some incomprehensible African dialect.

"WTF!"

Realizing it was pointless to question the woman, Hoffa gave up. She continued to mutter and grumble in her unknown language as he turned and ran.

He exited the lobby, passing a group of women frolicking in the pool, clad in outdated swimwear, and headed to the spot where the doorman had been stationed earlier.

The doorman was still on duty, and Hoffa skidded to a stop in front of him.

The man greeted him with a professional smile.

"Raymond Lebrun—where is he? I need to find him," Hoffa said.

The doorman thought for a moment. "Ah, Monsieur Lebrun is resting in the underground wine cellar."

Though the doorman's English was heavily accented with French, at least they could communicate.

"Take me to him."

"Follow me, please."

Hoffa breathed a sigh of relief.

Following the doorman through several arched stone corridors, Hoffa entered an underground wine cellar lined with brown floor tiles. There, amidst a crowd, he immediately spotted the flamboyant old man laughing loudly.

Raymond was seated at a gambling table, playing cards with a group. His face was flushed red from drinking, and he had his arms around two scantily clad women, who occasionally fed him drinks.

There was no time to dwell on the extravagant lifestyle of these Frenchmen.

Hoffa strode forward and slapped Raymond Lebrun's shoulder firmly.

"Hey!"

The old man turned sluggishly, his drunken eyes squinting. It took him a good moment to recognize Hoffa.

"Oh, oh, it's you! The shapeshifter, right? What's up? Come for a drink?"

With that, he took a glass of wine from one of the women by his side and handed it to Hoffa.

The overpowering smell of alcohol made Hoffa dizzy. He quickly grabbed the glass and set it on the table.

"Thanks, but… uh, about the job you mentioned earlier this afternoon—I'll take it."

"Job?" Raymond echoed, blinking in confusion.

Raymond was clearly drunk. "Hic… You mean the… job of finding the key?"

"What key? No, the one involving disabled people and kids," Hoffa reminded him, holding his breath.

"Ohhh, the one from the Spencer family."

Raymond suddenly understood. He pushed away the two women beside him and stood up, fumbling through his pockets for a while. After some searching, he pulled out a set of numbered tags, counted them, and handed one to Hoffa.

"701, go ahead… hic. Just say you were… hic… recommended by me. But I'll warn you, that kid has a weird temper. Passing his interview won't be easy."

"Interview?" Hoffa was taken aback.

But Raymond had already returned to his lively card game, laughing and shouting, completely carefree.

Left with no choice, Hoffa took the numbered tag and quickly left the wine cellar, entering the hotel's elevator.

Room 701 was likely on the top floor.

When Hoffa stepped out of the vintage sliding-door elevator and reached the top floor, he found that there was only one room—Room 701.

Sitting on a waiting bench outside the door were two young men in suits. One had red hair, the other blond. Both sat cross-legged with briefcases in hand, looking serious.

Why were men dressed like corporate professionals here at such a late hour? Hoffa wondered.

Just as he was about to push the door open, the blond-haired man on the bench spoke up.

"Are you here for the interview?"

Hoffa nodded in surprise.

"Don't you know to line up for an interview? We've been waiting all day," the red-haired man said, displeased.

Hoffa's eyes widened. Why was there so much competition for a mere 50 Galleons?

Was the world really this harsh?

The situation was developing in ways Hoffa hadn't anticipated.

With no other chairs around, Hoffa gave the two men a slight nod of acknowledgment before sitting on the bench as well.

The two men let out a faint huff but said nothing more. Dressed in black suits, complete with bow ties, gold watches, and polished shoes, they exuded an air of elite professionalism.

After a while of silence, the blond-haired man turned to Hoffa. "What's your area of expertise?"

"Expertise? Uh…" Hoffa hesitated. "Magic?"

The two men froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Magic? Are you some kind of clown from a circus?"

"Stop joking. A kid like you should go home to your mom," the red-haired man sneered.

Hoffa scrutinized the two and asked in surprise, "Are you Muggles?"

"Muggles? What's that?" the red-haired man asked.

The blond-haired man frowned. "Hey, what nonsense are you talking about? I graduated from the University of Lisbon, specialize in finance, and hold a Level 1 law certificate. I'm a professional lawyer."

Hoffa was even more confused. He looked at the numbered tag in his hand again, wondering if Raymond had been too drunk and given him the wrong one. Why were Muggle university graduates competing for a job meant for a Beauxbatons student escort?

The red-haired man scoffed at the blond-haired man. "University of Lisbon? A law certificate? That's all you've got, and you think you're qualified for this job?"

With a flourish, he opened his briefcase, revealing a collection of shiny certificates.

"I hold Level 1 medical, nutritional, caregiving, and psychological counseling licenses. I even have a specialized license for disabled care. No one is more suited to be Mr. Spencer's secretary than me."

Listening to this bizarre exchange, Hoffa was utterly perplexed. Then something clicked.

"Mr. Spencer… Who exactly is he?" Hoffa asked the red-haired man.

"What?!" The red-haired man exclaimed with an exaggerated gesture, pushing up his glasses. "You're here for an interview but don't even know about your employer?"

Hoffa glanced at his flamboyant gesture and replied, "I just got the news this afternoon."

"There's no way you'll get the job like this," the red-haired man said arrogantly. "The Spencers are one of Europe's oldest families, with a history dating back over a thousand years. Their wealth is immense, spanning across Europe. Every heir of the Spencer lineage is the richest, most outstanding, and most exceptional man in Europe. The current young heir, Sylvie Spencer, is…"

Sylvie.

The name struck a chord with Hoffa.

It felt oddly familiar, as if he had heard it before. But where?

Suddenly, his expression changed.

Last year, when Indor took him to Gringotts for a scam, wasn't he pretending to be someone named Sylvie Spencer?

Bang!

The door to Room 701 suddenly opened.

The red-haired man stopped talking.

A stout man in a suit emerged from the room, sweating profusely and looking disheveled. Even his trousers were damp.

Behind him stood a dark-skinned girl, her expression cold. Hoffa recognized her as the cleaning lady, Nancy, whom he had seen earlier in the day.

"You're up next. Come in," she said indifferently.

The blond-haired man stood up arrogantly, glancing disdainfully at the sweaty man.

But Nancy, sounding irritable, added, "All three of you, come in together. Mr. Spencer is tired."

(End of Chapter)

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