Harry Potter: I am the Legend

It had only been a month since the last time Hoffa left Hogsmeade, but when he returned, the village was indeed as Aberforth had described—completely occupied by wizards.

Figures could be seen everywhere—some perched on trees, others standing on rooftops. Some held wands, others carried bows and arrows, and there were even a few with Muggle machine guns.

However, the expressions on these wizards' faces were weary and numb. Clearly, the battles with Squib soldiers had greatly drained their spirits.

As Aberforth passed by, he loudly directed the wizards to switch shifts. The wizards, upon receiving their orders, sighed in relief and retreated from their posts, while the younger wizards following behind Hoffa nervously took their places.

When the young wizards walked away, Aberforth turned to Hoffa and said, "Don't be fooled by their appearance—these are the last hope of the wizarding world. If they lose their magic, I fear the magical world will be finished."

"It won't be finished," Hoffa said with certainty.

Aberforth was taken aback, then burst into laughter. "Of course, of course not, Bach. This place holds the largest number of surviving wizards in all of Britain—more than my brother has under his command. Though, I must admit, his people are stronger. But now that you've joined us, the outcome is uncertain. We'll definitely reclaim Hogwarts and rebuild the wizarding era."

"Professor Dumbledore sent me to find you," Hoffa said calmly. "He told me you have an extremely important mission for me. Is that true?"

Aberforth waved his hand irritably. "Alright, alright, I know you're one of the Order of the Phoenix. My brother is always tricking others into risking their lives for him. You'd better watch out!"

"I'm not one of the Order of the Phoenix. I owe Dumbledore my life, and I must repay that debt. Now, give me the mission," Hoffa said seriously.

Aberforth glared at him. "What's the rush? Have dinner and rest first. Many young wizards here are eager to meet you."

Hoffa wanted to start the mission quickly, but Aberforth's hospitality was hard to refuse. He reluctantly followed him into the Hog's Head Pub. However, instead of meeting new wizards on the ground floor as Aberforth had arranged, he went alone to the basement. There, in a room adorned with a portrait of a young girl, he meditated to replenish his magical energy, preparing for any unexpected situations.

While he meditated, the girl in the painting gazed at him intently, seemingly curious about the quiet boy. He meditated until nightfall when someone knocked on the door.

"Mr. Bach, the banquet is about to begin," someone called from outside.

Hoffa opened his eyes from his meditation.

"I'll be right there," he replied.

The person outside, satisfied with the answer, walked away happily.

Hoffa jumped down from the bed and noticed the girl in the painting still staring at him. He calmly greeted her, "Hello, Ariana."

The girl in the painting blushed, turned her head shyly, and fiddled with the hem of her dress while sneaking glances at him.

But Hoffa had already picked up his sword and left.

When he reached the ground floor of the Hog's Head, the tables were laden with food. The young wizards greeted him warmly, and Hoffa returned their greetings with a gentle smile. Yet the more he smiled, the heavier the pressure he felt. Just a few kilometers away was the sealed Hogwarts—holding a banquet so close to a powder keg was incredibly dangerous.

Aberforth sat at the bar with several adult wizards. Not knowing anyone, Hoffa took a seat beside him. A man wearing a leather hat turned to him and extended his hand.

"Mr. Bach, I'm Teuton, a reporter for the Daily Prophet."

Hoffa wasn't particularly fond of journalists, but in the face of the magical decline, anyone who persisted in supporting the wizarding cause deserved respect. He shook hands with the man.

"Mr. Bach, may I interview you?" Teuton asked.

"Whatever you want to ask, ask it here."

Teuton was overjoyed. He took out a notebook and asked, "How long do you think this strange magical decline will last?"

"I don't know," Hoffa answered honestly.

He once believed that coming back from the future meant the future was certain. But after enduring the nightmare, he no longer thought so. The future remained uncertain.

Teuton continued, "Some wizards believe the future belongs to Muggle technology. They suggest we should adapt, learn Muggle skills and ideas. Gringotts even proposes abandoning Galleons and switching to Muggle paper currency. What is your opinion on this?"

Hoffa remained silent. In his nightmares, as Minister of Magic, he was often asked for his opinions on various matters. He had frequently delivered lofty speeches. But now, like everything else from that nightmare, he was tired of giving opinions. What was the point? Opinions wouldn't help him defeat Sylby or reunite with Aglaia.

"I know nothing. Don't ask me," Hoffa said.

Teuton froze, unsure what to write. The atmosphere grew awkward until Aberforth intervened, clapping Hoffa's shoulder.

"The future isn't for analysis, Teuton—it's for hope. Isn't that right, Bach?"

"Or perhaps it's for fear," Hoffa whispered.

"Maybe," Aberforth conceded, "but I'd rather be optimistic. We've weathered many storms. In the sixteenth century, goblin rebellions killed countless people—right here in Hogsmeade. But wizards triumphed in the end. This time will be no different."

He raised his voice. "We will reclaim Hogwarts!"

The declaration ignited a small wave of enthusiasm, with wizards raising their butterbeer in unison. The gloomy atmosphere lifted. Hoffa, however, merely raised his glass without drinking or eating. His abstinence did not go unnoticed by Aberforth.

"Bach, why aren't you eating?" he asked. "Try the fish—we just caught it from the lake."

Hoffa glanced at the beautifully cooked fish and eggs. Despite the harsh conditions, the Hog's Head's chef had put great effort into the feast.

Yet to Hoffa, such hospitality seemed out of place. His memories had returned, and he vividly recalled how Miranda had seduced him with a lavish meal before subjecting him to soul-crushing torment. That meal had lulled him into complacency, making him a slave to desire.

Now, faced with such meticulously prepared food, Hoffa couldn't bring himself to eat.

He pushed the plate and butterbeer aside and addressed the bartender. "Excuse me, could you do me a favor?"

The bartender, respectful of Hoffa, immediately bowed. "At your service, sir."

"Bring me a piece of black bread and a glass of clear water."

The bartender was surprised by the request but complied.

When the black bread and water were served, Aberforth's eyes nearly popped out.

"Bach, are you a monk? Why won't you eat what we've prepared?"

Aberforth was taken aback.

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Aberforth, but I only like eating black bread now." With that, he leisurely tore the black bread apart, placed it in his mouth, and chewed it with a sip of water before swallowing.

"What happened?"

Aberforth asked with a heavy heart.

The black bread still contained wood shavings, making it look anything but appetizing. Not to mention, the person sitting beside him was a Ravenclaw. He had never seen such a proud Ravenclaw eat such coarse food before.

Hoffa shook his head. Some things were known only to him. Facing Aberforth's curiosity, he simply said, "Professor Dumbledore mentioned a task for me. What exactly is it?"

As soon as the serious matter was brought up, Aberforth's expression became solemn. He replied, "Three days ago, Albus told me that the wizarding world had reached a life-or-death crisis. The most urgent need at this moment is unity. We need allies—enough allies—to have any hope of overcoming this catastrophe. To that end, he wants you to travel to Beauxbatons in France and persuade Headmaster Pierre to send troops to Britain to help reclaim Hogwarts."

Hoffa was slightly stunned. So, Nicolas Flamel was right—it really was a mission to France.

"Why me?"

Hoffa asked in surprise. "Why doesn't Professor Dumbledore go himself? My French isn't great, and I don't know anyone there. If we need help from France, wouldn't it be better to send someone familiar with French affairs?"

"Bach, how well do you know yourself?" Aberforth asked.

"How well do I know myself?" Hoffa echoed.

"While he was alive, Fatiel repeatedly said you were like a son to him. I imagine the same sentiment is shared by the Delaces family in France. You know, he himself graduated from Beauxbatons."

Aberforth's words made Hoffa's body tense up instantly. He sat motionless in his seat, his mind buzzing. He reached for the glass in front of him for a sip, only to find his hand trembling uncontrollably, making it difficult to swallow even the warm water.

"Please, add some ice."

He softly instructed the bartender.

The bartender dropped some ice cubes into Hoffa's glass. He bit into them, chewing loudly before swallowing. Only then did the stabbing pain in his heart subside slightly.

Aberforth didn't notice Hoffa's reaction. He continued, "When Albus was young, he had a deep connection with Grindelwald. During the previous wizarding war, Grindelwald devastated France, leaving them with a lasting resentment toward Albus.

"But you're different. Even though Fatiel is gone and his family has nearly collapsed, that mark on you is indelible. Everyone knows your connection to the Fatiel family. And given the strong ties between Beauxbatons and Ravenclaw, I believe they will be pleased to see you."

Hoffa chewed on several more ice cubes, his expression growing colder.

Aberforth lowered his voice. "Beauxbatons is very closed off now. They only meet with their own kind. Hoffa, if anyone is most suited for this mission—"

"Enough. No need to say more. I'm leaving immediately."

Hoffa cut him off.

He jumped off his chair, unable to sit still for another second.

If he stayed and listened any longer, he feared that before the God of Nightmares could drive him insane, he would lose his mind first.

Aberforth looked at him in shock. "What? Right now?"

"Right now," Hoffa said resolutely.

Hoffa's workaholic attitude made Aberforth feel both grateful and guilty. He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Hoffa, saying, "This is a message from Albus. Give it to Headmaster Pierre. And no matter what, you must secure Beauxbatons' support. That is your mission."

"Understood."

Aberforth added, "We'll be waiting for you here. But you must understand, time is running out. Gaining allies is critical."

Hoffa tucked the letter into his pocket and asked directly, "How do I get there? Is someone taking me via Apparition?"

Aberforth smiled wryly. "That's impossible, Hoffa. Magic is depleting rapidly in the world. Even my brother likely couldn't support such a long-distance Apparition."

"Then how do I go? I don't know where Beauxbatons is."

Aberforth stood up, patted Hoffa's shoulder, and said, "Follow me."

The two of them left the Hog's Head Inn and walked into the quiet grove behind the pub.

There, Hoffa saw a black creature kneeling before a feeding trough, eating something. But instead of hay, the trough was filled with raw meat, dripping with blood. The creature had a sharp head, protruding bones on its back, and many spikes along its joints—it looked like a sinister black horse.

A Thestral?

Hoffa was astonished. "You want me to ride a Thestral?"

"Yes. Since the magical depletion, many fantastic creatures have disappeared without a trace. There used to be plenty of Thestrals here, but now only this one remains."

Hoffa didn't hesitate. Though Thestrals looked terrifying with their bony bodies and spikes, he didn't mind—as long as he could complete the mission. He could eat black bread, and he could ride a Thestral.

He approached the creature and ran a hand along its back.

The Thestral's eerie eyes locked onto Hoffa as it continued eating.

Hoffa swung himself onto the Thestral's bony back. It grunted in displeasure, stood up slowly, and kept rummaging through the trough with its mouth.

Standing beside him, Aberforth said, "Thestrals know the way. Just tell it where you want to go, and it will take you there. Of course, riding one won't be comfortable. And given the long journey ahead, this will take time. Hoffa, this won't be easy for you."

"No need for extra words, Aberforth. Until I return, stay away from Hogwarts. The creatures inside are terrifying." Hoffa warned, gripping the Thestral's back.

"Understood."

Aberforth patted the Thestral's neck and whispered a few words into its ear.

The Thestral immediately raised its sharp head high and spread its black wings wide. Since it had no reins, Hoffa wrapped his arms around its neck.

Then, the Thestral broke into a sprint. As it galloped, it flapped its wings, its legs gradually leaving the ground and soaring upwards.

Hoffa watched as the nightscape below him shrank, with Aberforth and Hogsmeade becoming smaller in the distance. The silhouette of Hogwarts Castle emerged in the night, shrouded in a misty veil, making it appear hazy and indistinct.

Before Hoffa could take a better look at the castle, the Thestral carried him higher, piercing through dense clouds.

The moisture in the clouds dampened his face and hair. Clutching the Thestral's bony neck, a shiver rose from deep within him, causing him to close his eyes tightly.

Beyond the mist, he reached an even higher altitude. Here, he could see the bright moon and a sparkling Milky Way. The temperature dropped sharply, and frost quickly formed on his face. Beneath his tightly pressed lips, his heart pounded with intensity, and a golden light faintly flickered in his eyes.

He exhaled a breath of white mist, slowly released his grip on the Thestral's neck, and spread his arms wide, allowing the icy night wind to envelop him.

Though the Thestral was an uncomfortable ride and the cold was biting, he relished the sensation of gliding through the night sky. It was a thrill he hadn't experienced in decades of dreams.

This thrill reminded him—he was still alive. There was still hope.

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09