Harry Potter: I am the Legend

In the pitch-black room, Hoffa regained his senses. Turning his head, his eyes quickly scanned the area. He spotted a face full of a scruffy beard—a middle-aged man with cold, piercing eyes set in a weathered face marked by deep lines of age.

In the instant Hoffa had been lost in that bizarre hallucination, this wanted man had silently crept up beside him.

Without time to think, Hoffa grabbed the shrine in front of him and bolted.

The man behind him wasted no time, pulling the trigger. A burst of blue flame lit up the room, and the thunderous roar shattered the glass windows.

Hoffa entered a spectral stride, narrowly dodging the bullet.

Clutching the shrine, he charged toward the door. Yet the closer he ran, the farther the door seemed to recede, as if the floor beneath him were retreating madly, the entire room stretching into infinity.

He froze momentarily, realizing the situation.

Damn it—illusion magic.

Biting his tongue hard, he jolted himself with the sharp pain, snapping back to clarity.

To his surprise, he found himself lying on the ground, legs twitching uncontrollably in a rather ridiculous posture.

Norbert, wand in hand, stormed over. He grabbed the shrine from Hoffa's hands and landed a heavy punch squarely on his face.

"You're lucky, you little thief!"

Crack! Hoffa's high-bridged nose broke with a sickening snap.

Clutching his nose, Hoffa let out a howl of pain.

Hmph!

Norbert tucked the shrine under his arm, pushed open the door, and strode out.

But he didn't get far before slamming headfirst into a massive stone wall.

The wall was grotesque, composed of countless writhing stone hands.

He spun around abruptly to find the boy he had just knocked down struggling to his feet. Hoffa gripped his broken nose, twisted it back into place, and began to grow. In the blink of an eye, his once-skinny, short frame expanded into a tall, muscular build, his limbs long and sinewy, with every muscle sculpted like forged steel.

In the next second, Hoffa vanished.

Norbert's heart sank. This strange boy was far more troublesome than he had imagined. From his coat, he pulled out a glass orb and smashed it onto the ground.

The orb shattered, summoning a fiery red dome-shaped barrier in the air. Hoffa's descending fist struck the barrier, scorching his arm black.

He staggered back, and the barrier shattered into fragments within seconds. Norbert flicked his wand.

"Stupefy!"

Hoffa raised a shield in time, his eyes flashing with electricity. The sky grew dark with storm clouds. Pointing his fingers forward, Hoffa summoned a chain of lightning from above, splitting into six arcs before striking Norbert.

Boom!

Electrocuted, Norbert was hurled backward, landing heavily on the ground.

In his activated state, Hoffa lunged forward, pinning Norbert down with one hand while pulling a glass vial from his belt with the other, intent on subduing him with anti-magic potion.

Seeing the vial, Norbert's expression shifted.

"Anti-magic potion—damn it!"

Summoning all his strength, he headbutted Hoffa with his forehead.

Thunk!

The dull thud echoed.

Caught off guard, Hoffa was momentarily stunned.

The potion spilled backward, splashing onto both their faces.

Norbert hadn't expected his opponent's skull to be so hard. His full-force headbutt left his own forehead bleeding as he collapsed to the ground, dizzy and disoriented.

Hoffa staggered back a few steps, clutching his forehead as he leaned against the wall.

A sweet, cool sensation seeped into his skin, spreading through his body. But with it came a chilling realization—his flowing magic felt like it was being blocked by an invisible dam of steel, rendering it increasingly inaccessible.

Damn it. He'd gotten some of the potion on himself too.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the shrine in the distance and stumbled toward it.

Norbert, also groggy, climbed to his feet, crawling on the ground like a toad as he pounced toward the shrine.

Being closer, he reached it first. Grabbing the shrine, Norbert attempted to Disapparate. But just ten meters into the process, he collapsed to the ground, unable to maintain the spell.

The potion had disabled his magic as well.

Hoffa wiped the residue from his face, glanced at Norbert sprawled ten meters away, and dashed forward to seize the shrine again.

As soon as he grabbed it, the man beside him pulled a gleaming alchemical firearm from his chest and fired.

Boom!

A dazzling burst of blue flame erupted.

The bullet split mid-air into three shards, all striking Hoffa squarely in the chest.

The impact sent him flying backward, crashing through a window and landing in the living room of a three-story house.

Inside, a family of three dangled lifelessly from the ceiling beams, swaying as if performing a macabre dance.

Amid the shards of shattered glass, Hoffa spat out a mouthful of blood and struggled to his feet. He looked down and saw his chest—a bloody, mutilated mess. The power of that gun was leagues beyond any ordinary Muggle weapon.

"Damn it."

He pressed his wound, forcing himself into his activated state.

But as the anti-magic potion's effects intensified, his magic dwindled rapidly, like a dying flame. He couldn't maintain the activated state for long.

As his wound half-healed, he reverted to his regular form, shrinking back to his lean, slight build.

At that moment, Norbert, clutching his shoulder, burst through a wooden door, gun in hand, and staggered toward him.

Realizing the dire situation, Hoffa cursed under his breath. Without magic, he was no different from an ordinary Muggle.

Norbert raised his gun, and Hoffa rolled and scrambled across the floor.

Boom!

Another shot rang out, obliterating the wall like an artillery shell.

"Who sent you, you little thief?" Norbert bellowed behind him.

In the darkened room, Hoffa caught his breath as he clutched the relic tightly against the wall, not daring to lift his head. His heart pounded like a drumbeat.

At this moment, he was a wizard under a magic suppression curse, facing another similarly suppressed wizard. But the other man had a gun—an advantage Hoffa couldn't counter.

This terrifying game of life and death was unlike anything he had experienced in a long time. What seemed like a straightforward retrieval mission had escalated to this dire situation.

Sweat and blood mixed on his neck, sticky and cold. Hoffa licked his dry lips, breathing heavily to calm his frantic heartbeat and the adrenaline flooding his veins.

Amid the swinging corpses of three hanged ghosts, Norbert cautiously walked across the broken glass, his steps slow and deliberate. "Drop the relic, and I'll let you leave," he called out. "I give my word! I know your master. Tell him I won't trouble you."

Hoffa had no idea who Norbert was talking about. He glanced at the glowing relic in his hands, its iridescent light mesmerizing. Some instinct told him not to surrender it to anyone.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, closer. Realizing he couldn't escape, Hoffa somersaulted out of the shadows, darting through the house and toward the riverbank along a rocky shoreline.

Norbert burst through the door, raising his gun once more to fire. Before the shot could ring out, Hoffa hurled the relic toward him with all his might.

"You little brat, how dare you!" Norbert roared, visibly panicked.

Abandoning his gun, he dove to catch the relic, barely managing to grab it before it hit the ground. Opening the box in a rush, his face fell when he saw it was empty.

"Damn it!" he growled, realizing he'd been tricked.

Turning around, he saw the strange, scrappy boy snatch up the alchemical handgun he had discarded. The boy pointed it straight at his head.

"Gotcha, Mr. Notorious Fugitive Norbert," Hoffa said with a bloody grin. "Bet the Ministry of Magic will reward me handsomely for this!"

"You little bastard! A Ministry lapdog, I knew you were no good!"

"Say that again?"

"You stole from me, and I can't even insult you? You filthy Mudblood, freakish mongrel, Irish white-skinned pig, uncivilized brat—"

"Shut up!" Hoffa bellowed, astonished at the man's boundless vitriol. "Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"

"Shoot me, then!" Norbert sneered. "It's not even your gun. You think you can just fire it?"

Grinding his teeth, Hoffa felt a dark thought boiling in his chest: just pull the trigger. Nothing else matters.

The thought consumed him, a shadow clouding his reason. Shaking his head furiously, he tried to suppress the rising bloodlust.

"Youngster, afraid to kill? Too soft!"

Boom!

Crossing an unseen line, Hoffa's eyes turned bloodshot as he pulled the trigger, aiming for Norbert's leg.

But the moment the trigger clicked, a surge of electricity coursed through Hoffa's body, sending him into convulsions.

It was a trap.

Norbert capitalized on the moment, striking Hoffa's elbow with a fierce blow, knocking the gun from his grasp, and reclaiming it.

The situation reversed once more. Norbert seized the brilliantly shimmering dragon egg nestled in Hoffa's chest, spitting on the ground as he sneered, "You dare use my creation against me? Fool!"

With disdain, he cocked the alchemical handgun, ready to fire.

At that moment, a second gun cocked behind him.

A mocking voice drawled, "Drop the gun, tough guy."

Norbert froze, turning his head in disbelief.

"Who's there?" he growled.

"Shh, boy. Hands up," the voice commanded, dripping with malice.

Norbert spun to attack, but his opponent was quicker. With a deft motion, the newcomer struck Norbert's head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out cold.

Hoffa slumped to the ground, stunned by the abrupt turn of events.

From the shadows emerged the gaunt man who had ferried cargo to Azkaban earlier. Rifle in hand, he pointed it at Hoffa's head, his expression cold.

"Turn around," the man ordered.

Hoffa obeyed, leaning against the wall. At this moment, he had no strength left to resist.

The man thoroughly patted Hoffa down, checking his pockets, under his arms, even around his backside.

"Where's your wand?" the man demanded.

"Lost it," Hoffa replied, holding his head.

"How do you lose a wand? Why not lose yourself while you're at it?"

Breathing a mocking laugh near Hoffa's ear, the man stepped back. "Stand up."

Hoffa complied.

The man squinted at him. "You were the stowaway on our ship, weren't you?"

Pointing at Norbert, Hoffa tried to explain, "You don't understand. That man is a fugitive—"

"Shut up!" the man barked, raising his rifle. "Just answer me."

Hoffa nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

"You didn't pay."

"No."

"Nobody rides Theo and me for free."

From the distance, a foghorn blared through the mist, the bright lights of a ship piercing the darkness.

The gaunt man cocked his head. "Theo's back."

With that, thud!

He struck Hoffa on the head with his rifle butt, knocking him unconscious as well.

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09