Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The Half-Blood King Scandal escalates. The board of governors votes 9-2 (one abstaining) to close the school. Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon enacts Education Act No. 14, declaring that Hogwarts will permanently shut its doors by month's end.

"January 27th, The Daily Prophet reports that Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon personally led a Ateam of Aurors to Hogwarts to oversee the evacuation of students."

Smack!

The newspaper was yanked away and thrown into the wastebasket beside the hospital bed. Behind it, a shocked girl with silver hair and blue eyes appeared.

"What are you doing, Hoffa?"

Aglaia, still mid-read, scowled at him in irritation.

"Please, I'm begging you—just be quiet for one minute, will you?" Hoffa said weakly from the bed.

A tense silence stretched for sixty seconds.

Then, Aglaia leaned closer to Hoffa's bed and whispered, "Time's up. Now, tell me what happened that night. I'm dying of curiosity here!"

"You're going crazy? I'm going insane!" Hoffa groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Why couldn't you just stay in the common room like Miranda?"

"No way!"

Aglaia pushed Hoffa forcefully.

"Hoffa, the school is shutting down the day after tomorrow. Everyone else is trying to figure out what to do, but you're hiding in here like a hermit, avoiding everyone. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Can't we wait until my arm heals to talk about this?" Hoffa muttered, turning his back to her.

"Merlin's beard! Your arm healed ages ago," Aglaia pointed out sharply. "Shouldn't you at least start packing? Where are you going after this? Saint Mungo's, maybe?"

"No, and you've suggested that a hundred times already."

"Why are you so ungrateful, Hoffa?" Aglaia folded her arms in frustration. "Don't you see I'm trying to help you?"

"One day," Hoffa sighed.

"If you want to help, leave me alone for one day. Just one day."

"One day? You said that yesterday, the day before, and the day before that!"

"Yep," Hoffa said, plugging his ears with his fingers.

Aglaia pouted, kicked the chair, and stormed off.

"Lazy bum!"

"Sure. I'm lazy. Now leave," Hoffa replied.

"Fine! One day? Why not ten? Or a hundred? You might as well rot here. Don't think I care—it's just out of courtesy as a classmate!"

Bang!

The door slammed shut.

Finally, silence descended. The hospital ward was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Hoffa sat up in bed, running a hand through his tangled hair.

On his bedside table lay his wand, a pile of snacks, and a stack of newspapers.

The newspapers were Miranda's gift, the snacks Aglaia's.

But he didn't want any of it.

He had no appetite, no interest in gathering more news, and no desire to fight meaningless battles.

Hoffa sighed deeply, rubbing his face, and started to daydream.

The clock on the wall ticked away. It had been a month since that chaotic Christmas night.

In that time, Hoffa had lost ten pounds. His pale face and unruly hair betrayed his exhaustion.

Every day brought new bombshell revelations, but none of it mattered to him. He was powerless to stop any of it.

Without the school healer or the medical staff, all taken away by Aurors, Hoffa had spent the month in the hospital wing, healing like a common Muggle, waiting for his injuries to mend.

Thanks to his rudimentary medical knowledge and the occasional aid of his Vitalize ability, he managed to avoid complications.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to his inner turmoil.

The real agony was the confusion and loss of purpose gnawing at him. This was far more devastating than any wound. He felt like he was sinking into quicksand—the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

Like a ghost floating in a void, he had lost all sensation. Only the occasional itch in his shoulder reminded him that life hadn't completely abandoned him.

He picked up a newspaper but immediately threw it aside in disgust.

With Hogwarts closing in two days, he was out of leads. Maybe he should give up on all of this nonsense. Perhaps he should leave Hogwarts, head to America, find Joey or Indor, and scrape together a life there. Or maybe he could wander aimlessly, exploring dungeons, becoming a vagabond with pockets full of trinkets.

But before his fantasies could deepen, a hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality.

He thought it was Aglaia returning to bother him again, so he shrugged his shoulder and said gruffly, "Leave me alone. Come back tomorrow."

But the owner of the hand responded softly, "Tomorrow is a dangerous word, Bach."

It wasn't Aglaia. Startled, Hoffa sat up immediately and turned around. Standing by his bedside was a tall man with half-moon spectacles and auburn facial hair—Albus Dumbledore. Hoffa had no idea when Dumbledore had entered his room.

"Professor Dumbledore, do... do you need something?"

"I'm temporarily the Head of Ravenclaw House. Am I not allowed to check on an injured student?"

Dumbledore sat down by Hoffa's bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alright," Hoffa replied stiffly.

"Really? You're as thin as one of my brother's goats. He often goes on drinking binges for days, leaving the poor animals to fend for themselves."

Dumbledore's humor forced a faint smile out of Hoffa, but he quickly lowered his voice to ask, "Professor, is the school really going to be shut down?"

"Most likely. The Ministry's official notice arrived yesterday. All students are to leave the school by the end of the month. I managed to convince the Wizengamot not to implicate the students in this scandal, and they agreed."

Dumbledore spoke with a calm tone. "However, taxpayers won't allow a school led by a convicted war criminal to remain open. No school could survive such a crisis of trust."

Hoffa's mouth felt bitter, as if he'd swallowed a dozen bitter melon peels. After a moment of silence, he couldn't help but ask, "Do you think so too? Do you believe Headmaster Dippet is the Half-Blood King?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"Of course."

"I don't believe so."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I worked alongside Armando for over twenty years. He may have been rigid, overly proud, even a bit arrogant, but he never did anything to harm this school. It meant everything to him."

Hoffa's eyes widened.

Dumbledore paused and sighed. "But in the face of overwhelming evidence, my words hold little weight. His unauthorized research into construct technology and human experimentation cannot be ignored. Unless the real truth is uncovered, he is bound for Azkaban, where the Dementors will eventually take his soul."

After another pause, Dumbledore asked, "Hoffa, I'd like to know your thoughts."

Hoffa replied weakly, "Why ask me? I've done everything I could."

"Because you're a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaws are known for a wisdom few can match, aren't they?"

"Ravenclaw? Unparalleled wisdom?" Hoffa laughed bitterly. "I don't get it. Not at all."

"What don't you understand?"

"Why I'm in Ravenclaw. Look at me—do I seem like someone with the extraordinary wisdom Ravenclaw is famous for?" Hoffa murmured. "I should be in Gryffindor, shouldn't I? Everyone thinks I belong there."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as he regarded Hoffa.

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you."

"What?"

"Do you remember our private conversation last year?"

"At the orphanage?"

"No, at the hospital. You and Joey were injured, and we spoke, just like now."

"So?"

"At first, I too wondered why you weren't sorted into Gryffindor. You seemed such a natural fit.

But when I said the school might expel Joey, you argued that we cannot judge causes by their results alone. That's when I realized Ravenclaw suited you far better than Gryffindor."

Dumbledore continued, "Hoffa, you possess the true essence of a Ravenclaw—a trait that, if I may be frank, Gryffindors often lack: fairness. You should believe in yourself."

"What's the point of fairness?" Hoffa muttered almost inaudibly. "I only wanted to make life safer for the people around me, to protect others. But in the end, I couldn't change anything. How can I claim to have Ravenclaw's wisdom?"

"Ah."

Dumbledore interrupted Hoffa with a sigh and leaned back in his chair, his expression pensive. "Ravenclaw's wisdom. Tell me, Hoffa, what do you think wisdom is?"

"Strength, intelligence, strategic thinking, and the ability to see through all confusion."

Hoffa replied without hesitation.

"Hahaha!"

Dumbledore was taken aback but then burst into laughter. As he laughed, he adjusted his glasses and rubbed his eyes, leaving Hoffa utterly bewildered.

"Hoffa, what you've described is a job—a Muggle scientist or strategist's work. That's not wisdom. That's just having a sharper mind than most."

"Isn't being sharp-minded the same as wisdom?" Hoffa asked, puzzled.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Do you think King Arthur was particularly clever? Or Napoleon?"

Hoffa stared. "Weren't they?"

Dumbledore tapped Hoffa's chest with a long finger and spoke in a barely audible voice:

"Don't be deceived by appearances. Wisdom is a burden, a torment, a responsibility. But most importantly, wisdom is a choice.

Many see the darkness and choose to succumb to it.

They live in darkness, grow complacent with the benefits they reap, and wield their newfound power as they please. They even label their methods as 'wisdom.'

But that is not wisdom—it is folly, the ceiling of their potential.

A truly wise person sees the darkness yet chooses the light, even if that light is as faint as a firefly's glow.

Such a person is worth following, worth needing, worth loving. Someone who can unite others—that is a true sage."

Hoffa stared at Dumbledore's finger pressed against his heart, then into the clear blue eyes behind the man's glasses. For a moment, he was utterly speechless.

Dumbledore took Hoffa's hand and placed a small, hard object in his palm.

"I believe you can do better."

(End of Chapter)

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