Harry Potter: I am the Legend

In the dark alleyway under the night sky, murder and desire intertwined. As Hoffa and Ryan brushed past the figures there, a female vampire seemed to sense something amiss. She retracted her sharp fangs, looking confusedly into the darkness.

After moving away, Hoffa, still shaken, glanced back at the small groups gathering in the distance. A single vampire wasn't unusual, but encountering so many at once was unheard of.

Such sights were everywhere in the streets. Laughter, moans, and the sounds of sucking filled the air. Frenzied men swarmed like moths drawn to flames into shadowy corners, where clusters of vampires gathered.

Ryan remarked, "I told you, in these times, nothing is too shocking. If someone can turn an entire city into the undead, it's not surprising that another could infect a city full of people with vampirism. This place was originally built as a safe zone to protect Muggles, but now it's rotting from the inside."

"Who's behind this?"

"There's a high-ranking vampire hidden here, spreading a blood plague during the war. His true identity remains unknown, but he's my target. I need to uncover him, or the entire city is doomed."

"How many vampires are here now?"

"Thousands," Ryan said after a pause, with a bitter smile. "And that's a conservative estimate."

"Thousands?" Hoffa drew a sharp breath. In the magical world, vampires weren't rare, nor particularly terrifying individually. But thousands of them, appearing in a Muggle city—that was nothing short of horrifying.

Ryan continued, "They're a hierarchical species. The higher-ranked the vampire, the more thralls and blood servants they command. In battle, these thralls are a nightmare for enemies, especially at night, when their abilities are significantly amplified. Even worse, their numbers are growing exponentially. If they spread to other cities, it'll be too late to stop them."

As they spoke, they arrived at a large, abandoned sports field. Once part of a university campus, it was now tightly bound by chains. In the center of the field stood a tall stone altar, and the air reeked of blood.

Hundreds of men gathered silently beneath the altar, their heavy, trembling breaths the only sound in the eerie stillness.

On the altar stood a group of women, each extraordinarily beautiful. In another context, Hoffa might have thought it was a fashion show. But here, they wore no glamorous outfits—in fact, many wore nothing at all.

Behind them stood men in golden masks, who slowly stripped the women of their clothing before sinking sharp fangs into their necks. The act had an unsettling elegance, contrasting sharply with the brutality and savagery on the streets.

At first, the women reacted with fear and spasms, but soon they began writhing and instinctively embracing the golden-masked men. Sharp fangs sprouted from their mouths as they transformed.

"So many good girls turned into vampires—what a waste," Ryan whispered to Hoffa, his breath tickling his ear. "High-ranking vampires only care for beautiful women."

"Why?"

"Being bitten by a vampire induces intense pleasure—addictive, even. Many willingly succumb to it. But there's a catch: they have to be attractive. If an ugly vampire with crooked teeth and a bulbous nose came for you, would you willingly let her bite you?"

"I'd beat her to death," Hoffa replied honestly.

"See? All creatures care about appearances. High-ranking vampires understand this well. They hunt for beautiful women, turning them into vampires who then spread the blood plague. Weak-willed men are easily ensnared, becoming lowly blood servants, addicts to the vampires' allure, and lifelong pawns."

Ryan paused before smirking. "Your friend who got captured—she's probably not bad-looking, right?"

"Damn it!" Hoffa cursed, thinking of Chloe. His regret deepened. Now that he knew the city's secret, he bitterly regretted not waking her sooner. If she turned into a vampire, his mission would be a complete failure.

Ryan extended his hand. "See? Our goals align. If we uncover this city's mastermind, you can save your friend, and I can complete my job. Help me, Hoffa."

"Not to pour cold water on your plan, but if someone created this many vampires, we might not stand a chance against them."

"True," Ryan admitted. "But we have Hogwarts behind us. I also have Molly. We don't need to defeat him—just find him and alert Hogwarts. Reinforcements will come."

"We? When did I become part of this?"

"We're from the same school. Different houses, sure, but there's an undeniable bond between us."

"Yeah, right. Shameless," Hoffa muttered, turning away. He thought of Tom Riddle, who also attended Hogwarts—did that mean they had an unbreakable bond too?

Ryan wasn't offended. He kept his hand extended, unwavering. His calm persistence impressed Hoffa.

After a moment's hesitation, Hoffa sighed. "Don't blame me if I prioritize my friend over this city."

"No one will force you to choose. Can't we find common ground?" Ryan replied immediately.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," the wizard assured him.

Hoffa shook Ryan's hand. A faint golden glow circled their arms before fading.

In a room piled high with books, an elderly man in an elaborate green robe asked Mans, "Is Grindelwald really coming? The ritual is about to begin. I can't have anyone interrupting it."

"Relax, Sir Rusfan," Mans replied lazily from a corner sofa. "Grindelwald doesn't care about what you're doing. Even if you sacrificed all of Britain, he wouldn't bat an eye."

"Anyone else, I'd believe that. But him? Who knows what that lunatic is thinking? He could suddenly decide to target me for no reason."

"You're overthinking, sir. Just focus on your ritual."

"Can't we delay it? Once the ritual is complete and I've ascended as a true blood relative, no one will matter."

"There's nothing I can do," Mans said, spreading his hands helplessly. "Kleister wants to save his son. If you want a delay, tell him yourself. I'm just a lackey here."

Kreister, the old man in the green robe, drummed his fingers impatiently on the mahogany desk, muttering to himself, "Wizards… wizards will always be wizards. Truly insufferable."

Just then, a polite knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?"

The green-robed old man composed himself.

The door creaked open, and a tall man wearing a golden mask entered, dragging a bound young woman behind him.

"Look what I've caught, Father," the man in the golden mask said, his tone brimming with pride.

"What now? Have you captured that Hogwarts spy?" the old man asked irritably.

The masked man shook his head. "Apologies, Father, I haven't found the Hogwarts operative yet. However, I stumbled upon an exceptional offering. Take a look."

He shoved the girl forward.

"Let me go! I can walk by myself!" the girl snapped angrily. "Who are you people, and why did you bring me here?"

"An exceptional offering?" The green-robed old man raised an eyebrow.

Two silent attendants in tasseled robes emerged from the shadows. They gracefully approached, gripping the struggling girl by the shoulders and forcing her to lift her face.

In the corner, Mance, who had been lounging casually, suddenly sat upright when he saw the nun in her black-and-white habit. The nun, too, recognized him.

"You!" Chloe screamed, her voice seething with rage. "I knew this had something to do with you, you scoundrel! Give up, you'll get nothing from me—"

Her voice was abruptly silenced.

The green-robed old man clamped his hand over Chloe's mouth, tilting her head slightly as he sniffed at her neck. Smiling, he turned to Mance. "How curious. You two know each other?"

Mance's expression returned to indifference as he slowly reclined back into his chair. "Of course. She's the target I was sent to capture. Funny how she ended up in your hands. Fate, I suppose."

"Is that so?"

Ignoring Chloe's terrified eyes, the old man held her chin firmly and inhaled deeply near her neck. "The Church loves to create these immaculate beings, as if purity can somehow justify their righteousness and authority. But tell me, without corruption, what meaning does purity hold? I imagine the Night God will be very pleased with this offering. You've done well, my child."

Standing nearby, the golden-masked man bowed deeply. "It's my duty, Father."

"Enough, then. Prepare for the ritual three days from now. No mistakes."

The masked man left with the two robed attendants, leaving Chloe, the green-robed old man, and Mance alone in the room.

The old man released Chloe's mouth with a slight gesture of his fingers. Instantly, an invisible spell bound her voice and movements, silencing her completely.

"How will you thank me, Mance?" the old man asked, looking at the man on the sofa.

"And how would you like me to thank you?" Mance replied.

"Keep Grindelwald away. Take this nun and go back to Berlin. You complete your mission, and I'll finish my ritual."

Mance chuckled, his gaze shifting away from Chloe. He shook his head. "As I said before, you'll need to take that up with Klaisster. I don't make the decisions here."

The old man pointed at Chloe. "Is she not important to you?"

"Not as much as you think. Even if you turned her into a vampire, I wouldn't bat an eye."

Chloe whimpered and struggled futilely, her wide eyes filled with terror. The green-robed old man's face darkened, his knuckles resuming their rhythmic drumming on the desk.

"Well, then. I have a suggestion," Mance said, flashing a placating smile.

"Speak."

"Have you considered hosting a banquet?"

"A banquet? What for?"

"Three days from now marks your important ritual. It's also the day Grindelwald might arrive—and possibly Anker's resurrection. With so much significance, wouldn't it be fitting to host a grand gathering?"

"Why would I host someone I have no intention of welcoming?" the old man retorted icily. "You, Grindelwald, Klaisster—I don't want any of you here, at least not now."

"Precisely because of that," Mance said smoothly, "you could use the pretense of a banquet to invite Grindelwald as a guest. If he arrives as an honored attendee, he's less likely to act against you. In fact, he might even help you keep an eye out for spies from the Ministry of Magic or other meddlers. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Impossible," the green-robed old man scoffed. "In all my years, I've never heard of Grindelwald attending a party. He's only interested in death. Don't think I don't know that."

"That's exactly why you should host one," Mance replied calmly. "At the very least, it's a front to appease Klaisster. If Grindelwald isn't interested in your ritual, he won't show up, and I'll have a plausible excuse to keep that domineering Klaisster at bay."

"A convenient excuse," the old man sneered. "If Klaisster fails to save his son, he'll surely kill you."

"And yet his anger wouldn't spill over to you," Mance reasoned. "After all, it's hard to strike someone offering hospitality. If you prepare a banquet and treat him with courtesy, even if he kills me, he won't harm you."

"What could he do to me?!" The old man's expression darkened as he slammed the table and stood abruptly. "As long as I complete the ritual—"

"But you haven't completed it yet," Mance interjected, gesturing toward the old man's left arm, bent at an unnatural angle. "There are still three days until the full moon."

The old man hastily tucked his deformed hand into his sleeve. "I don't need you to remind me, you filthy Muggle!" he growled.

Mance merely smiled in silence.

The green-robed old man's face shifted through a range of emotions before he finally gritted his teeth and sat back down, muttering angrily, "Wizards. Damned wizards."

"See?" Mance spread his hands. "I still think it's best for you to hold a banquet and invite Klaisster to witness the ritual."

"Why are you so eager to help me?" the old man asked darkly. "I don't believe for a second that your conscience has suddenly compelled you to save a devotee of the Night God."

"Of course not," Mance sighed. "I'm just looking out for myself. If Grindelwald doesn't show up and Klaisster vents his anger on me, I'd at least hope you could turn my corpse into a vampire."

"Oh-ho!"

The old man chuckled, his mood visibly lifting. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and studied Mance with amusement. "You're a clever little Muggle, I'll give you that. No wonder Grindelwald keeps you around. So, what's this? Do you want to be my son?"

"If it means staying alive, I wouldn't mind being your grandson," Mance quipped. "I should be around the same age as your grandson—if you have one."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

The old man burst into laughter, the sound filling the room. When he finally calmed down, he spoke with uncharacteristic cheer. "Alright, let's hear you call me 'Father.' If it pleases me, I might consider turning you after Klaisster kills you."

Mance dropped to one knee. "As you wish, Father."

In the corner, Chloe stood bound and silenced, watching the bizarre scene unfold before her. She couldn't utter a word, but the display made her stomach churn. She couldn't believe anyone could stoop so low. Her hatred for Mance, already fueled by past events, now reached its peak. Yet, as he knelt, he still found the time to flash her a sly smile and a wink.

The green-robed old man, oblivious to any impropriety, laughed heartily, more joyous than he had been in a long time.

"Fine, I agree," he declared grandly. "Just a banquet—it won't disappoint you."

Mance extended his hand. "Then, in three days, it's all up to you."

"Deal," the old man said, grasping his hand firmly.

"Deal."

(End of Chapter)

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