Harry Potter: I am the Legend

On a street corner in Granada, Hoffa stood motionless, gripping the wheelchair, gasping for breath.

He hadn't activated his Ghost Walk ability; he was merely in a normal stealth state.

A group of soldiers rushed past him noisily, oblivious to Hoffa, who was camouflaged like a chameleon between two trash bins.

As the sound of their boots faded, he let out a sigh of relief.

But then, distant angry roars shattered the brief silence.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, he turned to look. He saw the Gestapo officer he had scalded earlier scramble into a jeep, snatch up a radio, and bellow furiously into it.

Moments after the shouting stopped, intense magical ripples surged through the air. A man materialized beside the officer, dressed strikingly like one of Schmidt Luthoroff's subordinates.

A wizard had apparated here!

Damn it, these Germans even knew the secrets of wizards!

After a brief exchange, the wizard vanished again.

Hoffa's heart sank. The Disillusionment Charm wasn't as foolproof as Ghost Walk; it was much easier to detect.

Without hesitation, he darted off in another direction. The movement immediately triggered a reaction from the distant wizard, who sensed the magical disturbance and apparated to a higher vantage point. His hawk-like eyes scanned the area below.

It didn't take long for the wizard to pinpoint Hoffa's location. Pointing at the street where Hoffa was hiding, he barked an order.

Countless armed soldiers swarmed the area, and the wizard drew his wand, beginning to cast binding spells.

Hoffa had no choice but to use Ghost Walk again, dashing swiftly out of the wizard's detection range.

Just as he escaped, the alley behind him erupted with hundreds of spikes, sprouting from the ground like dungeon traps. It was a terrifying transfiguration spell.

Without looking back, Hoffa maneuvered the wheelchair through the winding streets, finally ducking into an abandoned, dilapidated shop. Inside, he emerged from his stealth state as his magical reserves were depleted.

Outside, the once-peaceful streets of Granada had turned into chaos. Soldiers sprinted in every direction, jeeps roared by, and terrified civilians wailed and screamed.

Hoffa realized the tense atmosphere of this era. Spain had just come out of a civil war, and even the slightest disturbance would plunge the city into lockdown.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he meditated briefly to regain some strength.

Before long, the sound of boots and voices echoed nearby. Soldiers were beginning to search inside the shops. Hoffa couldn't stay in the abandoned store any longer. Pushing the wheelchair, he crept back outside.

Peeking out from the alley, he quickly withdrew his head.

Both ends of the street were under heavy surveillance. To the left were Spanish soldiers in teal uniforms, and to the right, German soldiers. Every exit was blocked.

Hoffa glanced at his magical watch. The red needle was at its lowest point; the two uses of Ghost Walk had drained him.

Should he use Blood Bloom to convert vitality into magic again?

He hesitated. The conversion would disrupt his body's balance. If another crisis arose, he'd have no trump cards left.

Frowning, he peered out again.

The German soldiers conducted their searches with cold efficiency, leaving no one unchecked. Everyone on the street was forced to kneel with their hands behind their heads for inspection.

On the other side of the street, the Spanish soldiers, identifiable by their teal uniforms and red armbands, were slightly more lenient. They only inspected men, leaving women unsearched—perhaps a cultural distinction.

At the moment, the Spanish soldiers were rapidly clearing the crowds.

A baby's cry reached Hoffa's ears.

He turned to see a Spanish woman pushing a stroller, urgently explaining something to a soldier. The soldier immediately pushed her out of the crowd.

Watching this unfold, Hoffa stroked his chin thoughtfully.

His magic wasn't sufficient for another Ghost Walk, but he had just enough for one Transfiguration spell.

Seeing another group of German soldiers rushing toward him, Hoffa acted without hesitation. Leaning into a corner, he pointed his wand at himself, transforming his clothes into a pleated dress and his sneakers into red high heels.

Next, he tapped the wheelchair with his wand, morphing it into a large baby stroller.

Silby was utterly stunned. With a napkin stuffed in his mouth, he could only mumble incoherently, his eyes wide.

Hoffa yanked the napkin out and whispered, "Can you cry?"

Silby, still in shock, nodded vigorously. "I can."

"Then cry."

Silby let out a shrill, piercing wail.

Hoffa winced at the sound, but there was no time to care. He pulled up the stroller's canopy, concealing the oversized "baby" that was Silby.

Then, with a flick of his wand, he transformed it into a massive red sunhat, obscuring his face.

Lowering his head and clutching the hat, Hoffa joined a group of women, hurriedly pushing the stroller forward. His blood raced, his heart pounding like a drum.

The women, hearing the crying, instinctively made way for him.

A group of Spanish soldiers ran past, shouting loudly, completely ignoring the oddly large stroller being pushed by the "woman" beside them.

When the German soldiers saw a "woman" with a stroller approaching, they immediately stepped forward, speaking in a language Hoffa couldn't understand. They pressed on his shoulder, ushering him out of the crowd.

Once out of the throng, the soldiers raised their guns, shouting loudly in German. Hoffa flinched in surprise.

But a closer look revealed the commotion wasn't aimed at him—it was directed at a few men who had tried to sneak through by following him.

Breaking free from the dense crowd and leaving the heavily guarded streets behind, Hoffa pushed the stroller through a sea of panicked civilians. Finally, he let out a breath of relief.

Damn it! World War II hadn't even officially started, and the world was already this terrifying?

Crossing three streets in quick succession, Hoffa navigated toward a quieter corner, hoping to find a concealed spot where he could undo the humiliating Transfiguration.

As he reached an isolated alley, Silby's relentless crying grated on his nerves.

"Stop crying!" Hoffa snapped.

"Waaaahhhhhh!"

"Damn it!"

Hoffa yanked open the stroller's canopy, intending to stuff the napkin back into Silby's mouth.

Under the canopy, Silby was mock-crying, winking at Hoffa while drooling and grinning so hard he was practically convulsing with laughter.

But then, Silby's smile froze, his expression shifting to one of shock as he stared ahead.

Hoffa turned abruptly.

At the corner of the street stood a tall, graceful figure—the last person Hoffa wanted to see.

She had arrived.

Ossivia, likely returning from shopping, seemed to have been looking for Hoffa. She was dressed in a black Arabic-style gown with a veil, holding a paper bag filled with bread and other groceries.

At first, she froze at the sight of the "woman with a baby." Then, stepping aside to make room, her expression shifted as something felt off. Finally, she looked closer.

Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Three seconds later, the paper bag in her hands slipped to the ground, spilling its contents. A baguette rolled to a stop right next to Hoffa's red high heel.

On this foreign street, the distance between them was no more than two meters.

Yet the true distance seemed to stretch across time and space.

A gust of awkward wind swept through, lifting the hem of Hoffa's pink skirt. A few fallen leaves drifted between them.

Hoffa's breathing quickened. His limbs grew cold, as if he were trapped in a black hole, spinning and plummeting endlessly.

His face turned white, then red, then green, then black, and finally, a ghostly pale.

In that moment, he inexplicably felt that being shot by the Gestapo earlier might have been a preferable fate.

(End of chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09