Harry Potter: I am the Legend

(Good. That's what I wanted to say—don't ever, ever appear in front of me again.)

(Ossivia: Hoffa.)

Waiter: "Hoffa."

In a dark room, Hoffa was being shaken violently and woke up from a nightmare. Without hesitation, he lunged at the man closest to him.

Thud!A dull sound echoed.

The person shaking him was pinned against the wall.

"What are you doing, Bach? You're hurting me!"

Hoffa's arm muscles bulged, veins popping, his face pale and drenched in cold sweat. It took him a while to focus on reality. He found himself in a dim wooden room filled with cupboards, kitchen utensils, and sacks of potatoes, carrots, and other supplies.

Before him stood a nervous boy with a freckled, round face, wearing a patched and tattered apron. His hands were raised high, one of them holding a small cloth pouch, and he was pressed tightly against the wall by Hoffa.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily.

Realizing his mistake, Hoffa released his grip and stepped back, adjusting the boy's disheveled collar. "Sorry, Claire."

"Uh, no—it's fine. You're... really strong," the freckled boy stammered with an awkward laugh, clearly uneasy.

Hoffa sat back on the wooden bench he had been sleeping on, tipped his head back, and took a swig from a wooden cup of water. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, your school grant just arrived," the boy said, suddenly remembering. He hurriedly extended the cloth pouch in his hand. "It was delivered just now."

Hoffa silently took it and opened it to find ten Galleons inside.

"Thanks, Claire," he said flatly.

"Are you going back to Hogwarts this year?"

"Yeah."

"Uh... I'm not going this year. My Aunt Meryl said she's sending me to Ilvermorny in America instead," the freckled boy said, puffing his chest slightly. "I hear it's safer there."

"Mm."

Hoffa, uninterested, didn't want to engage in more conversation, but the boy kept fidgeting and remained standing in front of him.

"Anything else?" Hoffa asked directly, looking up.

"Oh, right, there's one more thing. Tom said he can't pay your salary on the 30th. Salaries are always issued on the 15th of each month, so..."

"So what?" Hoffa asked calmly.

"So, he'll send it to you at school on September 15th by owl," the freckled boy blurted out in one breath.

In the dim room, Hoffa was silent for a moment.

"I understand. Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem." The boy, relieved, quickly opened the door and slipped out.

After the door closed, only Hoffa was left in the dim, grease-stained kitchen storage room. He relaxed and glanced at his watch.

The second hand on the glowing dial continued to move.

The displayed time was 2:05 PM, August 29th.

The displayed magic level was 0.2X.

Hoffa looked at the small cloth bag in his hand and muttered, "Time to buy some books."

It had been over a month since that heart-stopping summer adventure. After returning from Spain, Hoffa tried to find several jobs, but none of them went smoothly.

By the end of August, due to the outbreak of the Wizarding War, several staff members at the Leaky Cauldron left their jobs in London. As a result, Hoffa was finally able to secure a job opportunity.

He sat on the stool for a while before opening his backpack and packing up the belongings he had stored at the Leaky Cauldron.

As he stuffed his things into the backpack, his fingers bumped into something hard. He pulled it out for a look — it was a small leather pouch. He froze for a second, then frowned and shoved it into the corner of the bag.

A minute later, wearing an apron, Hoffa shut the door to the storage room and walked out into the main hall of the Leaky Cauldron.

Outside, the Leaky Cauldron was much quieter than it had been the previous year when Hoffa had first come. The crowd at the counter was sparse, and the chairs and tables were mostly empty.

It was no longer the bustling scene it had been the year before.

Tom, the bar owner, sat at the front counter. His balding head, which had previously only shown signs of thinning hair, was now entirely bald. Business had been bad, and his constant worrying made him lose his temper almost daily.

Dealing with such a grumpy boss wasn't easy, but Hoffa had no choice.

Fortunately, he wouldn't have to stay at this bar for much longer.

He quickly wiped down the tables, cleared away the alcohol stains and tea dregs left behind by patrons, and then took the trash out to the waste disposal area in Diagon Alley.

Once the tables were cleaned and the trash was taken out, Hoffa walked over to the bar, hopped onto a high stool, and sat down.

Tom, still wiping a glass, glanced at Hoffa with a scowl. "What do you want?"

Hoffa said, "The start of school is coming up, Tom. I'm quitting to go buy books."

Tom grumbled as he wiped the glass, clearly irritated. "Then go buy them. Why are you telling me?"

Hoffa leaned forward on the high stool. "I don't want to wait until the 15th. I want to leave now."

"That's the rule! All my employees get paid on the 15th!" Tom barked, his tone fierce.

Hoffa grinned. "Is that so? Well, according to the Ministry of Magic's regulations, you're not allowed to hire underage workers under 16, but you still hired me."

"You—!" Tom's voice faltered.

"One month, 3 Galleons, 4 Sickles. I'll count it as 3 Galleons. Pay up, or I'll report you to the Labor Administration Department of the Ministry of Magic," Hoffa said listlessly.

BANG!!

Tom slammed the glass onto the table, baring his teeth. But Hoffa didn't even blink. He just gazed at Tom with a bored expression.

The two locked eyes for nearly twenty seconds until the shop bell jingled as a customer entered. Only then did old Tom reluctantly reach under the counter, pull out 3 gold coins, and slam them onto the counter in front of Hoffa. He ground his teeth as he said, "Don't think you'll be welcomed back here next year, you little wizard!"

"Mm-hmm."

Hoffa shrugged indifferently, swiped the coins into his hand, and pocketed them. Then he jumped off the high stool, untied his apron, and tossed it aside. Taking out his wand, he approached the brick wall in Diagon Alley, ready to head off and buy his books.

But just then, the person who had entered the bar caught Hoffa's attention. It was a boy he had never seen before — a youth with light golden hair striding in from outside.

The boy was about the same height as Hoffa, wearing an exceptionally elegant dark green coat. His short, pale-gold hair stood straight up, strand by strand.

The strangest part, however, was the small house-elf following closely behind him. The wrinkled little creature trailed at his heels like a shadow.

"Young master, young master, wait for me! Young master!"

"Useless! Just like your father — useless trash! Can't you walk any faster? Don't waste my precious time!"

The arrogant boy snapped and delivered a swift kick to the house-elf, sending it rolling across the floor.

Seeing the boy enter, Tom's eyes lit up. He immediately forced a flowery smile and hurried forward.

But before Tom could get close—

"Out of my way, hunchback," the boy said with a look of disdain.

As soon as the boy spoke, the house-elf following him also shouted, "Out of the way, hunchback! Didn't you hear?!"

Tom froze in place, awkwardly rubbing his hands together, before slowly retreating to the side.

Just as Hoffa glanced back, the spiky-haired boy strode up beside him, ramming Hoffa with his shoulder as if he were nothing more than a twig.

Hoffa stepped aside, squinting as he folded his arms.

The boy stopped in front of the wall, pulled out a blackthorn wand, and tapped the bricks.

While waiting for the wall to open, he finally noticed the other boy standing beside him. His eyes scanned Hoffa from head to toe, lingering briefly on his eyes and earring.

But his attention soon shifted because the house-elf at his feet was tugging on his pant leg.

"Young master, the books."

It would have been better if it had stayed quiet.

"Get lost, you fool! Do I need you to remind me?!"

With a surge of anger, the boy kicked the elf away and snarled, "I have to buy books myself? What are all those useless servants even doing?!"

The house-elf rolled on the ground but sprang back up like lightning. Waving its fists furiously, it shouted, "Exactly! What are they doing? A bunch of useless good-for-nothings!"

The boy strode forward, launching a powerful kick like a soccer player, sending the elf flying through the air. He bellowed, "I was talking about my father! Who gave you permission to say that?!"

The house-elf immediately dropped to its knees, trembling like a leaf. "Young master... young master, I was wrong. Doro is a wretched creature! Doro is a bad elf! Please, please chop off Doro's head!"

BAM!

The elf was kicked away once more.

The voices of the boy and the elf grew fainter and fainter as they disappeared down Diagon Alley.

Hoffa watched them from behind with a blank expression, his eyes following the boy who clearly had a talent for soccer. He figured he could probably guess the boy's identity.

He pulled out his Hogwarts supply list and casually strolled into Diagon Alley. There was only one day left until the start of term, and he still had to buy all his required textbooks.

The outbreak of the Wizarding War had left the atmosphere of Diagon Alley tense and grim.

Tattered leaves swirled in the air, landing on Hoffa's feet. Hooded witches and wizards rushed past, moving quickly and quietly. Some wizards stood at the entrance of Gringotts Bank, loudly arguing with each other.

Shops selling recreational items and entertainment goods were eerily empty, and many had already gone out of business. Hoffa saw a sign reading "Shop for Lease" hanging outside the store that had previously sold broomsticks.

Only the shops selling magical security devices and self-defense tools had any business. Their doorways were crowded with customers.

The secondhand bookstore was located across from Flourish and Blotts. Secondhand books were significantly cheaper, costing only half the price of new ones.

After buying his textbooks and walking out of the store, Hoffa spotted that same spiky-haired boy standing at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts with his hands behind his back. The boy sneered, "Not even delivery? What, have all of Flourish and Blotts' owls died off?"

He shot a glance at Hoffa, his gaze pausing briefly on the stack of secondhand books in Hoffa's arms. With a snort of disdain, he turned away and strode off.

Behind him, the house-elf struggled to balance a pile of brand-new books that was taller than itself. Staggering as it walked, the elf called out, "Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy! Wait for Doro! Please wait for Doro!"

Malfoy.

So, it really was someone from that family. Hoffa didn't know which one it was, but the hairstyle was certainly different from that of his descendants and grandsons.

He raised an eyebrow and was about to leave.

But suddenly, a hand slapped down on his shoulder, and a teasing voice sounded next to his ear:

"Hey there, Mr. Bach."

(End of chapter.)

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