Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The simplicity and swiftness with which Hoffa had earned his reward caught him off guard. He was eager to dive into practicing the advanced meditation technique described in The Scholar's Knowledge, but it wasn't the right time. The train let out a long whistle, signaling its imminent departure.

Hurrying onto the train, Hoffa noticed countless young wizards waving goodbye to their parents from the windows. Some of the younger ones even shed tears, while the older students were already running around inside, playing games and laughing loudly.

Hoffa had no parents to wave to, nor friends to see him off.

By the conventions of other transmigrators, this was the point where Hoffa should seek out the Golden Trio and latch onto the savior's coattails. But in this era, such an option was off the table...

In truth, Hoffa didn't care about the Golden Trio or Harry and Ron at all. What he really wanted was to meet Hermione.

Heaven help him. Just the thought of being in the Harry Potter world but never meeting Hermione was enough to fill him with despair. By the time he finally could meet her, he'd likely be old and gray. Hoffa felt like throwing himself onto the train tracks and letting the Hogwarts Express end his misery.

"I was born too soon; you were born too late. If only we could have lived in the same time, I would have cherished every day with you," he murmured in Chinese, venting his frustrations about not being able to meet his goddess.

Consumed by this forlorn mood, Hoffa just wanted to find a quiet spot where no one would bother him so he could try out the newly acquired meditation method.

The train was large, but it was packed with people. After searching for some time, Hoffa finally found an empty compartment near the back of the train.

By then, the train had already begun moving.

The steam engine let out a plume of smoke and a whistle as it chugged forward, the rhythmic click-clack of the wheels filling the air.

Setting his luggage down, Hoffa sat comfortably, wiping the rainwater from his face.

Cross-legged in his seat, he gazed out the window.

The train quickly left London, passing through fields dotted with sheep and cows. Occasionally, gray, barren stones jutted out of the landscape.

Before long, it entered the verdant Scottish Highlands.

The sprawling highlands were not like the endless forests of Scandinavia, nor were they barren deserts. Instead, they were covered in rolling green moss and grass, sparse and low to the ground. The rugged rocks and crisp air constantly reminded one of the high-altitude terrain of this island nation.

Milarepa's Meditation Method emphasized connecting with nature and embracing simplicity and harmony.

Hoffa closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Following the prescribed pattern, he began to regulate his breathing slowly.

The advanced technique lived up to its reputation. Almost immediately, Hoffa felt a sense of mental clarity, as if his thoughts were sharp and unclouded. Gradually, his physical desires and distractions seemed to drift away.

But before he could complete three cycles of meditation—

Click.

The compartment door slid open.

Annoyed at having his meditation interrupted, Hoffa opened his eyes.

Speak of the devil.

Standing in the doorway was a silver-haired girl, her bag in hand, staring coldly at him.

She wore a round hat, and a white owl perched on her shoulder.

It was the same arrogant girl he had bumped into earlier and subsequently tricked.

The girl showed no intention of greeting Hoffa or even acknowledging his presence. She simply plopped down across from him, tossed her bag to the side, removed her hat, and crossed her legs, glaring icily at him.

The white owl on her shoulder mirrored its owner's demeanor, glaring at Hoffa with wide eyes, as if it wanted to tear him apart.

Hoffa hadn't expected the girl to track him down, and with such an accusatory air, no less. He wanted to snap at her, call her insane.

But he held back. It was important to stay humble when arriving in a new place—one of the traditional virtues of Chinese culture.

To de-escalate the situation, Hoffa gave her a polite nod.

"Hello."

The girl responded with a mocking smile. "You hypocrite. You're cursing me in your heart, but on the surface, you pretend to be all about peaceful coexistence. Since when did Hogwarts stop caring about the essence of its students when admitting them?"

"You...!"

Hoffa's words caught in his throat. He hadn't expected her to be so perceptive, let alone so sharp-tongued for someone so young.

Initially, he wanted to snap back at her, but before the words left his mouth, he chided himself for being so childish. What's the point of arguing with a little girl? Has my body regressing in age also affected my mindset?

So, he simply closed his mouth.

Not only that, but he also shut his eyes, resuming his Milarepa meditation practice.

Seeing Hoffa close his eyes and ignore her entirely, the girl's irritation flared. Narrowing her eyes dangerously, she asked, "What's your name?"

Hoffa, deep in his meditation, gave a faint hum through his nose, signaling his unwillingness to answer.

The girl let out a derisive chuckle. "Do you think I can't figure it out if you don't tell me? Trust me, I'll deduce who you are in no time."

Hoffa found her arrogance utterly ridiculous. With a faint smirk, he said, "Go ahead."

The girl began, "Wearing earrings made by the goblins of Heligoland yet attending Hogwarts? The British Ministry of Magic doesn't admit students from outside the British Isles, so you must be a descendant of an immigrant wizarding family. However, based on historical timelines, the Ministry imposed strict immigration restrictions in 1918. Therefore, your family must have immigrated before then..."

(One minute later)

"...Historically, there have been five pure-blood immigrant families in the British Isles: Lioster, Briat, Malfoy, Delaces. Additionally, there are twelve half-blood families: Baird, Cooper, Byron, Davies, Ian, Goshawk..."

(Another minute later)

"...Most of these families have vanished into history. Of the remaining ones, we can narrow it down to half. Judging by your age, you're either a first-year or second-year student. Within the immigrant families still in existence, there are only a few with boys aged 11 or 12. That leaves Delaces, Byron, Baird, and Goshawk."

"But of these families, only one hails from Heligoland: the Goshawk family. And the Goshawk family has only one new student entering Hogwarts this year—Miller Goshawk."

The girl rattled on for three whole minutes, stopping only when she'd completed her analysis.

Crossing her arms, she looked at Hoffa smugly, as did the owl perched on her shoulder.

Hoffa sighed softly, opening his eyes with a hint of sympathy. "For someone who knows so much, how is it that you couldn't figure out how to enter King's Cross Station?"

The girl raised her chin arrogantly, her overconfidence practically radiating from her.

"Because life is boring without challenges. After receiving my letter, I cut off all sources of information. I wanted to find the station on my own! Hmph, and even without your help, I still got in, didn't I, Miller?"

Hoffa spread his hands and offered a faint smile. "Yes, you did."

With that, he closed his eyes again and returned to his meditation.

Hoffa had fully grasped the girl's personality by now—arrogant and self-centered. He wasn't fond of girls like her, no matter how pretty they were. In fact, he found her somewhat annoying.

After her long-winded display of superiority, the girl seemed less angry than when she first entered. Curiously, she asked, "Hey, Miller, which house do you want to be in?"

Hoffa had no desire to engage with her, and besides, his name wasn't "Miller."

However, her question struck a chord. Hoffa had been mulling over this very thing for days, yet he still didn't know which house he'd end up in.

For Hoffa, the ideal outcome would be Gryffindor. After all, that house had the protagonist's charm, and even Dumbledore was a Gryffindor.

But without Hermione's presence, Hoffa didn't feel strongly about Gryffindor. He already knew plenty about it in his previous life and was open to exploring other houses.

Truthfully, he thought all four houses had their merits. He wouldn't even mind being in Slytherin, having heard their common room was located beneath the Black Lake—a fascinating thought.

Out of courtesy, Hoffa responded mildly, "Gryffindor, I suppose."

"Gryffindor? Hmph."

The girl tilted her head side to side as if she'd just heard something hilariously foolish. Even the owl on her shoulder mirrored her head movements in a human-like manner.

"That lot of arrogant, self-important fools who think they're destined for greatness but are actually brainless oafs waving their wands around like brutes. And you like that house? Pathetic."

Hoffa was speechless. To talk about the protagonist's house in such a dismissive manner—did she even hear herself? Criticizing others with such smug superiority while accusing them of arrogance? She had to be a full-fledged Slytherin herself.

"What about Slytherin?" Hoffa asked.

He figured that after trashing Gryffindor, she'd have some praise for Slytherin. To his surprise, she flicked her hair and let out a cold laugh.

"That bunch of fools who'd worship their family lineage like a sacred relic—full of ambition but devoid of humility. They'd do anything to achieve their goals, but even when they succeed, they're destined to be despised. True ignorance."

Hoffa's eyes widened. "Then… what about Hufflepuff?"

The girl smiled, about to respond, but the loud clatter of a trolley interrupted her.

A woman with a warm smile, wearing an apron, slid open the compartment door.

"Hey there, would you like to buy some snacks? I've got lots of tasty treats here."

Hoffa jolted up in excitement, instantly forgetting the arrogant girl beside him. Snacks on the train! Being in the HP world, how could he pass up the chance to try them?

The trolley was packed with delicious-looking food: Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and licorice wands. Hoffa, not short on money, did just as Harry had done—bought one of everything. He returned to his seat, thoroughly satisfied.

As the kind trolley witch turned to leave, the silver-haired girl suddenly stopped her.

"Wait. Are you a Hufflepuff alumna?"

The woman turned back, surprised, and then smiled with delight. "Oh, how did you know?"

The girl shrugged. "Just a guess. You can carry on."

The woman chuckled. "All right. Let me know if you need anything."

After she left, Hoffa grew curious. Offering the girl a Chocolate Frog, he asked, "How did you figure that out?"

The girl's beautiful face twisted into a sharp, mocking smile.

"Because only Hufflepuff graduates would take on such lowly jobs."

(End of Chapter)

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