Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Creak, creak, creak.

Amidst the storm, the cargo ship drifted aimlessly, its rudder abandoned. Without its captain, it floated wherever the wind and waves carried it, directionless.

Inside the dilapidated and swaying cabin, blood stained the floor. The corpse of the man whom Norbert had cruelly mutilated and killed still twitched slightly.

Each rocking motion churned Hoffa's stomach, the phantom pain becoming unbearable.

He looked at Norbert, and Norbert looked back at him.

After the unspeakable madness they had just endured, neither could find the words to speak.

After a long silence, Norbert leaned back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor. For a moment, his face was ashen, devoid of life.

Hoffa's lips twitched as though he wanted to offer some words of comfort, but he didn't know how. Besides, he himself needed comfort just as much, if not more.

What had just occurred left a deep scar on his already fragile psyche.

After what felt like an eternity, Norbert finally raised his head and croaked, "Kid, what's your name?"

"Hoffa."

"Hoffa, do you know about dragons?" Norbert asked in a hollow tone.

"Dragons?"

"Yeah, dragons."

"What about them?"

"What about them..."

Norbert trailed off, as though he'd suddenly lost the ability to speak. Then, with a jolt, he lunged at Hoffa, gripping his shoulders.

"Dragons are the kind of creatures that don't care whether they'll die tomorrow. They don't care if they'll be eaten by a bigger dragon, or even if they'll get, uh... violated by another male dragon in heat!"

Norbert's excitement was both fervent and numb as he continued, "Dragons only care about whether they can fill their stomachs, whether they can raise enough offspring, and whether their offspring will survive. That's it. That's all there is to it!"

Hoffa looked up in shock. There was a strange power in these words, rendering him momentarily speechless.

"So... what are you trying to say?"

"So, screw psychological trauma, you get me? Screw wizards, screw Squibs, screw humanity. We're just animals. We shouldn't even have consciousness. Do you understand?"

Hoffa didn't fully grasp the meaning, but he nodded anyway.

After some thought, he asked, "Then... what about us?"

Norbert stood up, pulled up his pants, and picked up the dragon egg lying on the floor. He gave Hoffa a cold glance. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. We're just strangers. I don't care why you're here, and I don't want to know. Let's just go our separate ways."

Hoffa also stood up. "Fine."

Norbert extended his bloodstained hand. "We have a deal."

Hoffa nodded. "We have a deal."

The two shook hands.

But just then, the flickering lightbulb in the cabin suddenly popped, plunging the room into darkness. A bone-chilling cold spread like a tide, freezing the blood on the floor into jagged ice.

Norbert's expression changed as if he had realized something. He let go of Hoffa's hand.

"You're on your own now."

With that, he disapparated without hesitation, vanishing into thin air.

Hoffa immediately felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Hey! Take me wi—"

Before he could finish, there was a thunderous crash. The entire cargo ship seemed to slam into a reef, coming to a violent halt.

Hoffa, thrown forward by the momentum, crashed heavily onto the cabin floor. Following a deafening bang, the remaining lightbulbs in the cabin exploded completely.

Waves pounded against the sides of the ship, sending tremors through its frame. The storm's rain lashed the vessel relentlessly, each droplet striking like bullets.

The bone-chilling cold crept into Hoffa's heart, wave after wave.

Now, he was the only person left on the ship. An oppressive fear clawed at his chest as he slowly got to his feet. The fleeting warmth from their earlier truce vanished entirely. Indeed, they were just strangers after all.

A flash of lightning cut through the blackness outside, illuminating the rainy night.

Hoffa looked up and froze.

At the entrance to the deck stood a towering figure cloaked in black, unmoving.

Its enormous cloak hung low, with two grayish-white, slimy hands drooping from beneath, covered in spots and glistening like something that had rotted in water.

Hoffa recognized it instantly.

A Dementor.

Darkness enveloped him again. He backed up against the wall as an icy chill froze the moisture in the air.

Another flash of lightning revealed that the Dementor at the doorway had vanished. But the weight on Hoffa's heart grew heavier.

He realized, with horror, that the entire lower deck of the ship was now teeming with Dementors.

They swarmed the cabin like an army, surrounding Hoffa.

Only now did he remember—this ship was bound for Azkaban, carrying supplies to the prison located in the North Sea.

The fat man he had knocked unconscious earlier... the last call he made before collapsing must have been to Azkaban.

The speed at which the situation had spiraled out of control far exceeded Hoffa's expectations.

He swallowed hard, his heart sinking into despair.

Damn Norbert. He had left him here alone.

Now, weaponless and exhausted, Hoffa faced an army of Dementors. What could he possibly do?

The bone-chilling cold didn't last long. On the swaying deck of the cabin, a silvery white light suddenly appeared. It was a horse—a wild horse radiating a brilliant silver glow.

A Patronus.

The silver horse moved slowly and silently down from the deck, approaching Hoffa. Yet, it didn't dispel the cold. Instead, it merely cast him an indifferent glance before stepping aside.

Then, heavy footsteps echoed from above.

Three figures descended from the deck into the cabin. Two of them were bare-chested, wearing iron masks adorned with horns. Their muscular bodies were imposing, and their backs were covered with sharp spikes, giving them the appearance of guards.

The figure in the center was a wizard cloaked entirely in black. His entire body was shrouded in shadow, exuding an air of mystery and danger.

The cloaked man entered the cabin and surveyed the scene. His gaze swept over Hoffa's face before settling on the corpse on the floor. He stepped forward, crouching beside the mutilated body. With a quick check of the neck, he confirmed the man was dead.

Rising to his feet, he turned to Hoffa and asked coldly, "Did you kill him?"

Hoffa silently shook his head.

The cloaked man snapped his fingers.

From the deck, two more hulking figures appeared. They dragged the fat man, Theo, and threw him heavily onto the floor at the cloaked man's feet. Theo collapsed with a loud thud, immediately curling into himself in fear.

The cloaked man asked, "Who killed him?"

The fat man whimpered and babbled incoherently. His mouth had been sewn shut, rendering him unable to speak.

The cloaked man drew his wand and made a sharp motion.

The stitches sealing the fat man's mouth unraveled.

The cloaked man repeated his question: "Who killed him?"

Shivering and cowering on the ground, Theo extended a trembling finger, pointing fearfully at Hoffa, who was now surrounded by Dementors.

"H-he did it."

The cloaked man nodded.

He turned to the two masked guards beside him and said, "Take him inside. Follow protocol."

With that, he turned and walked away without hesitation.

Hoffa knew things had taken a dire turn. This man was clearly a high-ranking figure from Azkaban. If someone like him mistakenly believed Hoffa was a murderer, it would spell disaster.

"Hey!"

Hoffa pressed against the wall, struggling to stand.

"I didn't kill him!"

The cloaked man glanced back, a mocking gleam in his eyes. "But you have no proof."

"What do you know?"

Hoffa protested, "It wasn't me, it was—mmph!"

Before he could finish, the two muscular guards stepped forward. One grabbed Hoffa's arms while the other clamped a hand over his mouth. Their grip was like a hydraulic press, rendering him completely immobile.

The cloaked man slowly approached the restrained Hoffa, speaking calmly:

"You can explain all this to your lawyer. But for now—"

He gave a chilling smile.

"You've broken the rules."

(End of Chapter)

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