Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Amidst the blazing torches carried by the students, Hoffa approached Nicolas Flamel. In just a few minutes, Flamel's gaze toward Hoffa shifted from affection and pity to reverence and unease.

The black-clad youth was surrounded by hundreds of students, resembling the eye of a storm. Wherever he went, the students followed, their eyes filled with boundless longing. It seemed as if a single command from him would be enough to make the Beauxbatons students charge through fire and water without hesitation.

"Hoffa, oh Hoffa... I finally understand why Dumbledore entrusted you with such a task. You truly are..." Flamel sighed. "I'm old. There are some things beyond my control now."

Hoffa ignored Flamel's lament and said, "Flamel, Olim, Don Quixote, take the students to England and find Dumbledore. He will assign you specific tasks."

His request was immediately met with Don Quixote's agreement. The man bowed deeply and said, "It would be my honor."

"What about you, Hoffa?" Nicolas Flamel asked.

Hoffa pondered for a moment before sneering, "Sponsoring Beauxbatons, possessing a large number of troops in England, and recruiting so many Squib wizards to serve him... I've been wondering how the Spencel family's elder brother managed to achieve this. Today, when I saw him bewitch Tom Riddle into working for him, I finally understood what he's using."

"What is he using?" Flamel asked.

Hoffa placed one hand on Flamel's shoulder and said, "Tom Riddle is a purely self-centered existence, a completely egotistical person. If he's willing to work for the Half-Blood King, then it means the Half-Blood King's offer far exceeded his expectations."

Flamel sighed, "That much I know, Hoffa, but..."

"Where does his money come from?"

Hoffa squinted at Flamel.

Flamel froze.

Hoffa said coolly, "A wizard family passed down for so many years, with no heirs, should have long since exhausted its wealth. Yet this man always has an endless stream of resources and funds to support various activities. It's absurd. Did his money fall from the sky?"

Nicolas Flamel was stunned, his lips trembling before he lowered his head, unwilling to speak.

"Flamel, as a wise and experienced wizard, I believe you know the answer." Hoffa leaned close to his ear and asked, "How does one truly obtain money?"

Flamel glanced around at the students, who gazed at Hoffa with respect and admiration, their torches encircling him as if awaiting his command.

"Don't speak to me like that, Hoffa. It's terrifying. You know I would never oppose you," Flamel pleaded softly.

Hoffa stared at Flamel, waiting for his answer.

"Money is inseparable from desire, Hoffa."

Hoffa's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Please elaborate."

"My source of wealth... you've already seen it—in my basement. Those with money are willing to pay exorbitant sums to fulfill their desires," Flamel whispered.

Hoffa released Flamel's shoulder and said indifferently, "So, someone must be paying the Half-Blood King exorbitant sums for their desires, correct?"

Flamel didn't respond, his expression bitter. However, Hoffa already understood. He nodded and said, "Nicolas, the rest is up to you. Ensure these students reach England safely."

"Understood," Flamel sighed in relief. He then asked, "What about you, Hoffa?"

Hoffa sneered, "Since the Half-Blood King is so wealthy, I'm going to see just how rich he really is."

With that, he walked toward the grazing Thestrals, mounted one, and caused the massive creature to rear up, attempting to throw him off. However, Hoffa pressed its head down with one hand, forcing it back onto the grass, unable to move.

Seeing Hoffa preparing to leave, the Beauxbatons students hurried to the Thestral's side, holding their torches high. They remained silent, but their reluctant gazes conveyed everything.

Though their time together had been brief, Hoffa had become an indispensable spiritual pillar for the Beauxbatons students.

Hoffa looked at them and said in a clear voice, "My friends, we will part for a short time, but we shall meet again soon. When we reunite, we will face the greatest challenge the wizarding world has ever seen. Until then, I hope each of you finds the source of your own magic."

"Understood!"

The students answered in unison, their voices so loud that Flamel turned his head in surprise.

Hoffa bowed slightly from his mount.

Then, with a squeeze of his legs, the white Thestral flapped its wings and soared into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.

The Thestral carried Hoffa toward England. When Big Ben reappeared in his sight, he leaped from the creature's back.

Thousands of meters in the air passed in a blink. Hoffa landed safely with his cross-shaped sword in hand, the Thunderbird wings behind him dissipating into nothingness. He had returned to the fog-shrouded streets of London.

Riddle's appearance made Hoffa realize that the energy Silby controlled far exceeded his expectations. Wizards like Riddle were not few in the magical world—perhaps they were even the majority. If Hoffa wanted to uncover Silby's financial sources, he would need allies.

Without a doubt, he already had someone in mind.

Glancing at Big Ben's clock, it was 10 PM—the perfect time to act.

He moved swiftly through the empty streets, following his memory. Soon, he arrived at the perimeter of an old church. The last time he awoke from a dream, he had been brought here. Now, after several days, he had returned—his memories fully restored.

The church was still heavily guarded. Soldiers smoked, played cards, and drank beer, killing time in their monotonous routine.

It wasn't until the gate guard shouted, "Hey! Who's there? What's your business?" that the soldiers put down their cards, grabbed their guns, and rushed outside.

In the fog, a young man with a cross-shaped sword slowly emerged, walking neither fast nor slow—like a leisurely stroll.

"Hey! You! Stop right there!"

The soldiers barked orders.

The boy paid no attention, continuing at his own pace.

The soldiers raised their guns, aiming at him.

Hoffa saw the black muzzles before him. He raised his hand and clenched his fingers. The ground rumbled as countless stone arms spiraled up, seizing the soldiers. Smaller stone hands covered their mouths and snapped their gun barrels, leaving them unable to cry out—only stare in terror at the black-clad boy.

But Hoffa did not kill them. He simply passed through the restrained soldiers, his gaze unwavering.

At the church's night-shrouded doors, more guards stood watch. Unwilling to waste time or alert anyone, Hoffa vanished into the air with a Disillusionment Charm.

Although it was already ten o'clock at night, the church was still filled with the droning sound of recitation.

"Magic does not exist. Magic is the greatest lie."

"The highest pursuit of humanity is equality."

"Magic is the source of all evil."

"Eliminate all differences."

"Magic does not exist. Magic is the greatest lie."

"The highest pursuit of humanity is equality."

"Magic is the source of all evil."

"Eliminate all differences."

"Magic does not exist. Magic is the greatest lie."

"The highest pursuit of humanity is equality."

"Magic is the source of all evil."

"Eliminate all differences."

A group of people, dressed in prison uniforms, sat in the church hall, repeating these phrases over and over again. Their voices were hoarse, weary, and devoid of emotion. Armed soldiers patrolled around them, ensuring compliance. If anyone faltered in their recitation, a rifle butt to the body awaited them without hesitation.

Hoffa walked past them, scanning their faces one by one.

Finally, beneath a crystal chandelier, he spotted a familiar bald old man. Shackled at the wrists and ankles, the man was crawling on the ground, staring at the papers before him and reciting the sentences again and again.

It was Adebe Goshak.

Once the Head of Ravenclaw House, a master of spells at Hogwarts, he now lay on the ground with vacant eyes, devoid of his former brilliance.

When Hoffa had first awakened from his nightmare, his memory had been wiped clean. Even when Adebe called his name, he could not recognize him. But now, with his memories restored, the sight before him felt like a knife carving into his heart.

Hoffa slowly reached out and gently touched the old man's face. Fragments of memory flashed through his mind—this same church, this same crystal chandelier. But back then, he had been dressed in formal attire, a rare smile on his face, reciting a wedding prayer.

The brief vision sent a sharp pain through his skull. He shook his head and stood up.

Adebe seemed to sense something. He looked at the transparent figure of Hoffa beside him, his lips moving, but no words came out.

The movement immediately caught the attention of a patrolling soldier. The soldier struck Adebe on the head with the butt of his rifle. "Number Four, why aren't you reading?"

Adebe stammered, "I... I think... I saw..."

The soldier narrowed his eyes. "Number Four, what did you say? What did you see?"

Adebe's voice trembled. "I saw magic."

A stunned silence fell over the church. The monotonous recitation ceased in an instant. The prisoners around Adebe trembled and crawled away, trying to distance themselves from him.

The soldier was in disbelief. "Repeat what you just said."

Adebe looked closely at the space before him, then suddenly burst into laughter. "Spells! The Disillusionment Charm... Magic! It's magic! Hahaha—!"

SMACK!

A heavy whip lashed across Adebe Goshak's face. The old man yelped, hastily covering his face and falling silent, kneeling motionless on the ground.

Hoffa turned his head and saw a young female doctor, clad in long sleeves, descending the stairs gracefully with a whip in hand. Swaying her hips as she approached Adebe, she spoke in a saccharine tone. "Number Four, have you forgotten how your son died? Have you forgotten the evil power that once flowed through you?"

Adebe clutched his ears tightly, his entire body shaking.

The doctor sneered and whipped him again. "It seems you never learn. You've even forgotten the first principle. Now, recite it."

Adebe's lips quivered. "Magic does not exist. Magic is the greatest lie."

"Louder!"

"Magic does not exist. Magic is the greatest lie!"

The rest of the prisoners joined in unison.

"Yes, magic does not exist!"

The doctor bellowed, clutching her whip triumphantly. She stood above the kneeling crowd in the church and declared, "Learn well, sinners! Only by erasing everything from your past can you truly purify yourselves!"

Having delivered her decree, she snorted coldly, smugly tucking her whip into her belt, and turned to leave.

However, after taking only a few steps, she abruptly collided with an invisible wall. Stunned, she rubbed her forehead and suspiciously examined the empty space before her.

Collecting herself, she snorted again and changed direction, striding forward confidently—only to crash into the same invisible barrier and tumble to the ground.

"Doctor! Doctor!" The soldiers rushed to her side, trying to help her up, but she shoved their hands away and shrieked, "Don't touch me!"

Panicked, she turned to flee in another direction—only to slam into the unseen wall again, collapsing onto the floor.

That was the breaking point. Her composure shattered as she screamed hysterically, "Who's there? Stop playing tricks! Show yourself!"

As her voice echoed through the church, the air before her began to ripple like water. A colossal, ring-shaped form emerged, its countless layered feathers enveloping her and the soldiers in the hall.

Trembling with fear, the doctor slowly raised her head, following the curve of the enormous wings. Her gaze met a massive, silent creature, coiled majestically within the church.

It lowered its head gracefully, its golden eyes—each as large as her face—fixing on her.

Staring into those luminous pupils, the doctor found herself reflected within them. She could no longer form words, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Then, the colossal being spoke, its voice reverberating through the church.

"If magic does not exist… then what am I?"

(End of Chapter)

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