Harry Potter: I am the Legend

As the boy landed, he rolled and stood up swiftly. Holding a shard of glass he had picked up from the ground like a fencer, his right hand gripped a magical vial at his waist. He stammered, still shaken, "Hey, who are you? What are you doing here!?"

Hoffa scrutinized him from head to toe and replied slowly, "That's my question. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Don't act all mysterious," the boy snapped, covering a lump on his forehead. "Anyone not staying put in the safe zones at a time like this and sneaking around in places like this is either a dark wizard or a monster. Wait—"

The moonlight emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating Hoffa's face and his gleaming eyes. The boy in Hufflepuff robes widened his eyes in astonishment.

"Gray hair, yellow eyes... It's you! You're that Ravenclaw—Hoffa, Hoffa Bach!"

Hoffa crossed his arms. The boy, on the verge of fainting, suddenly rushed forward and grabbed Hoffa's arm.

"Mate, you've been missing for a year! A whole year! My goodness!"

Then, he let go of Hoffa's arm, stepped back, and leaned against the wall, shaking his head vigorously. "Wait, are you real or fake? Did someone use Polyjuice Potion to impersonate you?"

"No, no, that's not right. Someone who could so easily counter my Transfiguration must be the real deal, right?"

Convinced, he lunged forward again.

"I need to tell my friends. Let them know who I've seen. Wait... where's my owl? My owl! Damn it, Molly, where have you gone now?"

A sharp whistle followed, and a black-and-yellow speckled owl flew out from a hole in the ship's cabin, clutching a severed finger. It landed on his shoulder and let out a dissatisfied hoot.

"How many times have I told you, things outside aren't clean—they're full of germs." The boy pinched the finger from the owl's beak with disdain and tossed it aside. He then ruffled the owl's feathers until they stood on end. "I need you to send a letter for me, okay?"

The owl hooted in protest.

"It's just a short distance, a short one," the boy insisted, pulling a roll of parchment and a quill from his robe pocket. He licked the quill and prepared to write.

"Wait," Hoffa interrupted coldly, stopping the neurotic boy.

"What is it, Hoffa?"

"Don't rush to send your letter. I haven't asked yet—what are you doing here? You're in Hufflepuff robes, so you haven't graduated, have you?"

"Oh, that!"

The boy puffed out his chest with pride. "This year, the school has sent fifth-year and above students to patrol various cities. Only the elite were selected."

Seeing the boy's smug expression, Hoffa was momentarily speechless. For a long time, he had been dealing with cunning and deceitful individuals. The purity and pride within Hogwarts felt like a distant memory. He had to admit, if he were to undertake such a dangerous mission, he would disguise himself as inconspicuously as possible. Wearing a school robe so boldly? It was practically inviting curses to the face if they encountered a real dark wizard.

"I'm not asking why you were chosen," Hoffa clarified. "I'm asking what you're doing on this ship. Have you seen the crew and passengers on board?"

"I set up defensive spells along the coast I patrol, but two weeks ago, all my spells inexplicably failed. Following the traces, I found this wrecked cargo ship. That's when I ran into you."

The boy plopped down on the stairs. "Hey, I say, couldn't you have given some notice before coming back? You scared me half to death."

Hoffa didn't respond. He rubbed his chin, pondering. If the defensive spells were broken, it must have been the work of a wizard. It seemed Mans had already infiltrated Britain, though his whereabouts remained unknown.

"Do you have any clues, Hoffa? If you tell me, it might really help."

"What's your name?"

"Oh, forgot to introduce myself." The broad-chinned boy said excitedly, "I'm Ryan. Ryan Garrison, a sixth-year. Remember me? Hufflepuff's Beater. I'm a year ahead of you."

"Sorry." Hoffa shook his head. "I'm not interested in Quidditch."

His curt reply doused Ryan's enthusiasm like a bucket of cold water. Scratching his head awkwardly, Ryan muttered, "Well, it's still fun. If you're back, I'd recommend checking it out—if I still get to play Quidditch, that is."

"I've been here for almost a week, but I haven't seen a single person. Where is everyone?" Hoffa asked.

"Everyone around here?"

For some reason, Ryan shrugged helplessly. "They've gathered together. These days, people stick together to survive."

"Where are they gathered?"

"Bournemouth—if you can find it. But apart from me, no one else can take you there. The Ministry of Magic cast a Concealment Charm on it."

"Why?" Hoffa asked, surprised.

"The wizarding world is in turmoil," Ryan sighed. "Recently, an Irish town was massacred by a necromancer who hadn't been seen for ages. Everyone was turned into an army of undead, causing nationwide panic. Although our people dealt with him, the Ministry cast Concealment Charms around all cities afterward to prevent evil wizards from entering and leaving British towns."

"Terrifying," Hoffa muttered, inhaling sharply. "An entire town—how many people?"

"Thousands," Ryan said with a long sigh. "These days, powerful wizards and wizarding families are hoarding strength at all costs. Nothing shocking anymore."

"Take me there."

Hoffa's tone brooked no argument. Realizing he sounded too harsh, he softened, "The people on this ship are my responsibility. I hope you understand."

Ryan didn't seem surprised. He grinned and gave a thumbs-up. "Of course, I'll help, Hoffa. But can I send my letter to my friends now?"

Hoffa threw the wand back to him, saying, "No, you can't."

Ryan: "..."

Under the guidance of the sixth-year Hufflepuff student, they left the stranded cargo ship and hurried inland.

Along the way, Ryan incessantly peppered Hoffa with questions, ranging from why he left Hogwarts, to what he'd been up to recently, to whether he knew about the latest hot topics in the wizarding world, and even what he had eaten for lunch.

Ryan was the quintessential Hufflepuff—capable, warmhearted, but overly familiar. Hoffa found his chatter intolerable and avoided engaging too much, eager only to find Chloe and share the leads he'd discovered.

But when he returned to the spot where the two had rested, the nun was nowhere to be found. Even the firepit on the ground had burned out completely.

A chill ran through Hoffa's mind. At first, he thought she had stepped away for personal reasons, but the chaotic footprints on the ground ruled out that possibility—Chloe had been taken.

By humans?

Looking closely, no—it wasn't. The footprints on the ground had only four toes, with the tips and heel widely separated. The back of the print was short, as if something had walked on tiptoe across the ground.

His heart raced, growing colder with every beat. The sensation was like saving up for months to buy a new phone only to have it stolen immediately. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. This was the third time Chloe had gone missing. Previously, he hadn't been overly concerned about her safety or thoughts. His choice to escort her was purely pragmatic, based on her extraordinary abilities.

But this time, anxiety gnawed at him. Britain was no longer the safe haven it once was, and on this perilous land, her fate seemed uncertain. He regretted not waking her earlier and bringing her along.

Ryan, watching Hoffa freeze in place like a statue, asked curiously, "What's wrong?"

"My friend... my friend is missing!"

Hoffa jumped to a high vantage point and called out Chloe's name loudly, but there was no response—no sign of life anywhere. The moonlight illuminated the desolate town with a chilling glow.

Ryan drew his wand and examined the footprints near the extinguished fire under the light of his Lumos spell. Looking up, he said to Hoffa, "It was the people from Bournemouth who took her."

"People? Are you kidding? These are clearly beast tracks."

"Yes, they are," Ryan admitted, then shook his head. "But it's complicated. I can't explain it all at once. Just follow me to Bournemouth."

He pocketed his wand and ran a few steps ahead. "Are you coming?"

Hoffa gritted his teeth, glanced one last time at where Chloe had vanished, and shook off his useless self-reproach before following Ryan.

Ryan addressed the owl on his shoulder, "Molly, lead the way." The owl hooted in response, flapping its wings as it flew into the distance. Ryan followed closely behind it, with Hoffa trailing him.

Perhaps noticing Hoffa's foul mood, Ryan refrained from chatting. The two traveled in silence, trekking from night to dawn, and from dawn until midday.

Under the glaring sunlight, they reached the outskirts of a city. It looked no different from any other place—desolate, with empty buildings and no sign of life.

However, Ryan uncorked a green potion from his belt and poured a drop into the air.

The scene before them distorted as if the photograph of the city had been corroded by acid, revealing an opening wide enough for one person to pass through. Beyond it lay a different world.

Ryan stowed the bottle and tapped himself with his wand, becoming invisible. His disembodied voice came through, "You'd better do the same—don't let the city's people see you."

Following his advice, Hoffa activated his invisibility.

Once they entered the gap, the space behind them swiftly regenerated, erasing all signs of the opening.

They found themselves atop a building under the piercing sunlight. A few scavenging crows fluttered by, their wings beating noisily. Looking down at the streets below, Hoffa saw sparse pedestrians—very few people moved about.

"This is Bournemouth?"

"Yes," Ryan replied. His invisible form whistled, summoning the owl to perch on a drying rack on the rooftop. Opening a door leading downstairs, Ryan said, "Come on, I'll show you the city."

The two descended to the streets. The city didn't seem much different from a typical Muggle town, with commercial streets, residential buildings, and service establishments.

However, the streets were eerily quiet, populated only by patrolling soldiers and the occasional staggering drunkard.

At first glance, it resembled any ordinary Muggle city. Yet Hoffa noticed something unsettling—the pale faces and restrained movements of the inhabitants. The soldiers all wore thick gloves, as if meticulously avoiding any physical contact.

"What do you think of this city?" Ryan asked.

"Not many people—too few," Hoffa replied, frowning.

"You wouldn't believe it," Ryan sighed, "but just a month ago, this place was bustling with people."

"What happened to them?"

Hoffa pointed to a corner where several British soldiers in thick leather coats were hurriedly carrying a stretcher covered in black cloth. The contents beneath the cloth were indiscernible.

"Why are they dressed like that? Is there a disease here? Or a war?"

"Both," Ryan replied tersely.

"Both?"

Ryan glanced at the sky and said, "Seeing is believing. Come to where I stay, and when night falls, you'll understand what's happening here."

"Why can't we look during the day?" Hoffa asked impatiently. He had no desire to delay any further. Now that he was in this city, he wanted to find Chloe immediately.

"Trust me, if your friend was taken by the people of this city, they will never show themselves during the day," Ryan said, pointing to the tightly shut doors and windows lining the streets. "In this city, you won't see anything during the day. They're all asleep."

Hoffa looked at the closed windows. Despite the blinding sunlight in the sky, he felt no warmth. He could sense the lurking gloom and fear behind those houses, as if some force had stripped the sun of its power.

With no better options, and unfamiliar with the city, Hoffa had no choice but to follow Ryan to an ordinary apartment.

The apartment resembled the messy dwellings of young singles—scattered bedsheets and socks littered the floor. On the bed lay a few wizarding magazines and copies of the Daily Prophet.

Ryan poured him a cup of tea and offered him some snacks, but Hoffa had no appetite. He stood by the window, carefully pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek through a thumb-wide gap.

The towering, silent apartment complexes were lifeless, with not a single light on. Across the buildings, large structures were cluttered with makeshift greenhouse balconies and crisscrossing antenna wires, their sharp lines exuding a sense of danger.

On any other day, Hoffa might have been delighted to meet an old schoolmate, at least for a chance to share a meal. But now, his anxiety swelled with each passing moment. The city felt sickly, and he couldn't help but worry about Chloe's safety.

As dusk fell, he managed to doze off for about three restless hours. Calling it sleep would be an exaggeration; it was more like light dozing, disturbed by Ryan's incessant chatter with his owl. The way he talked to the bird was almost as if it were his girlfriend.

"Wake up."

Near midnight, Ryan roused him.

By then, Ryan's Hogwarts robe had been fully mended with a repair spell, looking brand new. His wand rested in a sleek leather holster, and the magical potion bottles on his belt glowed orange and blue. He looked ready for battle.

"Hoffa, it's time."

"Can't you change out of that outfit?" Hoffa grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Do you really have to wear your Hogwarts uniform on a mission?"

"Why would I? It's my pride," Ryan said with a grin. "You should change into your Ravenclaw robes too. Then we could be the Hogwarts Dynamic Duo!"

"Dynamic Duo? You've lost your mind," Hoffa retorted, pushing past him as he stood up and pulled on his combat boots.

Once again, they activated their Disillusionment charms, vanishing into thin air and stepping out onto the streets.

And what a sight it was—there were far more people than during the day.

They emerged from every corner of the city as if attending a bustling market, gathering in clusters in shadowy alleys, engaged in unknown activities. Their faces radiated a mix of excitement and hunger.

The air carried a faint, sickly-sweet scent. As it reached Hoffa's nose, it made him feel slightly nauseous. The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive, a strange and indescribable tension filling the air.

"What is going on in this place?" Hoffa asked, brushing past a group of men with wild, manic expressions. Still invisible, he turned to Ryan.

Ryan led him to the base of a streetlamp, its light extinguished. Pointing to a vague, white shadow in the distance, he said, "Take a look for yourself—it's thrilling."

Vampires!

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09