Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The Key?

Hoffa had no idea what kind of spell Sylby had cast on Olsivia to convince this uptight Slytherin to travel with them.

He nudged Sylby and asked, "What key?"

Sylby replied, "Take a guess."

"The key to a Gringotts vault?"

"Nope."

"The key to a safe holding the Philosopher's Stone?"

Sylby chuckled. "You even know about the Philosopher's Stone? Not bad. But that junk is only valuable to a cowardly old relic like Nicolas Flamel. Even if you gave it to me, I wouldn't want it."

Sylby sneered disdainfully.

"Watch your mouth!" Olsivia shot Sylby a warning glare before turning to Hoffa. "Just do your part. The rest isn't your concern."

Hoffa rolled his eyes. He didn't care what Olsivia was searching for, but the dynamics of this makeshift team worried him.

Olsivia was a woman of few words, usually lost in her own thoughts, only speaking in-depth when it came to professional topics.

But Sylby?

Besides the fact that only his head could move, he was an insufferable loudmouth with no filter. He had no interest in professional discussions and showed no regard for Olsivia's silence. It was as if he would die if he stopped talking.

Seated in his wheelchair, Sylby chattered incessantly, and Olsivia couldn't silence him the way she often did Hoffa.

After all, Sylby was disabled. There were no shoelaces to tie or collars to adjust—just a single blanket draped over him.

When the trio reached the parking area by the Spanish docks, Sylby began enthusiastically introducing Hoffa to his new car.

"A Daimler DB18. Ever seen one? They say Churchill drives the same model as me."

Under the orange glow of the dock's lights, a black vintage car gleamed. It looked impressive, but to Hoffa, even the best-looking car was still just an antique.

Ignoring Sylby's bragging, Hoffa turned to Olsivia. "Do you know how to drive?"

"I don't. Why should I know how to use a Muggle vehicle?"

Sylby chimed in, "I heard Hogwarts now uses Muggle buses as school transportation. Is it really wise to look down on Muggle vehicles?"

Olsivia's face darkened as she snapped, "When did I ever look down on them?"

Seeing Sylby open his mouth again, Hoffa quickly raised his hand to defuse the situation. "Enough, enough. I'll drive. Senior, you can sit in the back."

Hoffa grabbed the keys from Sylby's satchel and opened the car door. After helping Sylby into the back seat, he folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk. But as soon as he shut the trunk, Olsivia slammed the passenger door shut and sat in the front seat.

Hoffa sighed.

Sylby's untimely ridicule echoed from the back: "Beautiful lady, sitting in the front seat means you need to buckle your seatbelt. Do you even know how to buckle one?"

Hoffa thought, Here we go.

Sure enough, the witch in the front seat whirled around like lightning. By the time she turned, her head had transformed into a Medusa-like visage. Baring menacing teeth, every snake on her head opened its mouth. "Say one more word, and I'll kill you!"

Sylby grinned. "If you kill me, what about the key?"

Thud!

Hoffa heard a muffled sound as Olsivia's fingers sank into the expensive leather upholstery, leaving ten holes in the seat.

Pressing his hand to his forehead in exasperation, Hoffa leaned over to buckle Olsivia's seatbelt for her, even though he was sure she would survive a fall off a cliff.

Starting the car, they left the docks.

On the pitch-black concrete road, the vintage car crawled forward.

In 1939, there were no asphalt roads or streetlights, only dark, uneven concrete and gravel roads. Once they reached the outskirts, the terrain became even rougher, forcing Hoffa to drive slowly.

In the back seat, Sylby was persistently curious, bombarding Olsivia with questions about her hometown, birthplace, age, and name.

He seemed particularly fascinated by her surname, to the point of attaching every Russian surname he could think of to her name:

Olsivia Petrovna

Olsivia Sidorovna

Olsivia Andropovna

Olsivia Ulyanova

Olsivia Pishkova

Olsivia Khrushcheva

While rattling off these random names, he somehow still managed to direct Hoffa on which way to drive.

No matter what Sylby said, Olsivia stared straight ahead, her face a mask of indifference. Hoffa, however, glanced anxiously at the rearview mirror, his lips pressed tightly together.

He couldn't believe Sylby was pushing his luck this far.

Hoffa could empathize with Olsivia; last year, Aglaia had irritated him in much the same way. Yet, the Slytherin witch endured it silently.

After three nerve-wracking hours on the road, the terrain started to level out. Streetlights appeared, and the faint light of dawn began creeping over the horizon. As they wound through the mountain roads, Hoffa spotted a few road signs ahead—they were nearing the Sierra Nevada mountains in southern Spain.

At the foot of the mountains, Hoffa saw a faint outline of a small mountain town.

By then, Sylby's chatter had slowed, and in a raspy voice, he announced, "I want some water."

Olsivia didn't react, as though she hadn't heard him.

Sylby raised his voice. "I'm thirsty!"

Hoffa, frowning, kept one hand on the wheel and reached into the glove compartment with the other. He pulled out Sylby's oversized cup and passed it back to him.

"You expect me to grab it myself, buddy?" Sylby quipped.

Hoffa, exasperated, said to Olsivia, "Could you help him out? We're almost at a rest stop."

Olsivia slowly turned her head. Her green eyes glinted menacingly, sending a shiver down Hoffa's spine.

"Think of it as a small act of kindness toward the disabled," Hoffa added.

Without a word, the Slytherin witch remained motionless. Instead, the necklace around her neck morphed into a green serpent. The snake coiled around the cup, then slowly brought it to Sylby's mouth.

Sylby took a deep sip and sighed in satisfaction. "Being a wizard sure is convenient. I wish I were one too."

No one replied.

A moment later, Sylby broke the silence again. "I need to pee."

Olsivia's face darkened as she ground out two words through clenched teeth: "Hold it."

Hoffa chimed in, "Just a bit longer. We're almost at the town."

Sylby fell silent.

After a while, Olsivia suddenly spoke. "Do you smell something?"

Hoffa sniffed the air and frowned. A strange odor indeed lingered in the car.

"What's going on? Did the car spring a leak?" Hoffa asked Sylby.

In the darkness, Olsivia held her breath.

Two seconds later, Sylby replied calmly, "Oh, I probably wet myself."

The cabin fell silent again for a few seconds.

Bang!

A surge of intense magical energy erupted nearby.

The entire car nearly flipped over. The car door of Churchill's model was blasted dozens of meters away by a powerful spell. Without a word, Olsivia Apparated a hundred meters away, hunched over, and began retching.

Hoffa was stunned. Slamming the brakes, he skidded to a stop on the roadside, sending up a cloud of dust and crashing into a wooden road sign with a loud thud.

He roared, "What's wrong with you? Why did you wet yourself?!"

Sylby replied innocently, "I'm disabled."

"That's an excuse? Disgusting!"

Sylby explained, "I can't control myself. My nerves below the neck are completely shot."

"Then how could you even feel it?"

"That's why I warned you right after drinking the water!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"

Hoffa groaned, clutching his head in frustration.

He angrily pushed open the car door, pulling out Sylby's wheelchair. Liquid dripped ominously from the chair.

"Ugh!"

Hoffa couldn't bear to look. Pinching his fingers together, he pulled the blanket off Sylby, revealing his body beneath. Sylby wore a supportive compression suit, and his limbs were shriveled and deformed, resembling those of an eighty-year-old man. His skin was wrinkled and aged, his chest covered with scars from numerous surgeries.

The back of his translucent suit was reinforced with thick bandages, holding his spine straight.

This wasn't the body of a 15- or 16-year-old boy. Hoffa couldn't imagine how this guy had survived to this age.

Seeing this, Hoffa's fingers trembled slightly, and he reined in his anger.

"Aguamenti."

He tapped his wand, conjuring a stream of clean water to wash Sylby and his wheelchair thoroughly.

Without saying a word, Hoffa cleaned up the car interior as well, then loaded Sylby back into the car.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Hoffa turned his head and said coldly, "Since your teacher is the headmistress of Beauxbatons, you must know about the four houses of Hogwarts, right?"

"Of course," Sylby replied with a grin.

"And do you think provoking a Slytherin is fun?" Hoffa asked icily.

Sylby's smile gradually faded. "She's a Slytherin?"

"That's right. So if you want to live a long life, I suggest you drop that carefree attitude," Hoffa advised calmly.

Indeed, Olsivia had shown remarkable restraint. But she was a Slytherin, a fully trained graduate. If it had been someone from the Malfoy family or a grown-up Voldemort, Sylby wouldn't even know how he died.

Sylby remained silent, his expression becoming oddly somber.

Restarting the car, Hoffa drove up to where Olsivia was leaning against a tree.

By the roadside, Olsivia's face was pale, and she was still retching. Hoffa guessed she had probably vomited everything she'd eaten since last Christmas.

For someone as fastidious as her—who couldn't even tolerate a crooked button—what Sylby had done was outright insane.

Hoffa felt a deep sense of sympathy for her.

After waiting a moment, Hoffa said, "Get in, senior."

Olsivia climbed into the front passenger seat, her face pale and her tone steely as she turned to Sylby. "If I don't get that key, I will kill you. And I mean it."

As she spoke, frost seemed to form on the windows.

Sylby tilted his head slightly and murmured, "I look forward to it."

Sensing the strange tension in the car, Hoffa snapped irritably, "Both of you, just stop talking and let me drive!"

Both the passenger seat and the backseat fell silent.

Remarkably, they both closed their eyes and began resting at the same time.

(End of Chapter)

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