Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Hoffa had just put away the branch when several heads popped out from the rubble pile nearby. They looked uneasily at the black-clad boy by the fountain ruins. Sensing the commotion, Hoffa turned toward the ruins, causing the heads to shrink back immediately.

"Come out," Hoffa said. "It's temporarily safe."

Hearing Hoffa's reassurance, Olim helped Don Quixote up and led several students out from the rubble. They watched him from afar, not daring to approach.

Hoffa sheathed his cross-shaped sword into the leather scabbard on his back and walked towards Olim. Olim appeared extremely uneasy, not daring to meet Hoffa's gaze, while Don Quixote stared at him with a complex expression.

As they approached, Don Quixote sighed, "What an eye-opener. In all my years, I've never seen a wizard fight in such a way. Compared to you, the men of Beauxbatons might as well be women."

Hoffa shook his head. "Let's not talk about that now. How are the students?"

As soon as he spoke, Olim suddenly burst into tears, covering her face and repeatedly saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Hoffa's face changed, and he shouted in alarm, "Did you not evacuate the students outside?"

Don Quixote quickly stopped the furious Hoffa. "No, Bach, we followed your instructions and evacuated the students to the clouds outside. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"I was too slow," Olim sobbed, shaking her head. "If I had listened to you earlier, if I had realized sooner... If I had evacuated them immediately, I could have saved more. There are still so many students... so many students... all gone... all gone..."

Don Quixote's face darkened. "We couldn't save everyone. We lost dozens of young wizards, and more than a dozen others aged into withered old men under the dark magic. Bach, hearing their wails... there's nothing more painful."

Hoffa let out a slow breath. Thankfully, not all were lost. At least the majority had been saved.

Boom!

With a deafening crash, the roof of Beauxbatons' main castle, eroded by time, collapsed, sending thick dust into the air.

Seeing the castle crumble, everyone's face turned pale. The students covered their mouths, trembling, while Olim sobbed harder.

"Crying won't help. Think of a way to deal with the aftermath," Hoffa said.

"Is anyone still in the school?" he asked.

"There should be... some patients... in the school hospital..." Olim sniffled.

"Take me to them. We need to get them out."

Hoffa turned to Don Quixote. "Lead the students to the Pyrenees station below the clouds to find Nicolas Flamel. I don't know how long this castle will hold. If the magic disappears, it could fall from the clouds, and the consequences would be unimaginable."

"Magic disappearing..."

Don Quixote shivered. "Is it really happening?"

"Who knows?" Hoffa looked at the blinding sunlight in the sky. "Move."

Under Hoffa's command, those remaining at the school split into two groups. Don Quixote led the remaining wizards outside, while Hoffa and Olim ventured into Beauxbatons to search for survivors.

After the relentless scourge of the river of time, the once magnificent castle now appeared faded and pale—no vibrant colors, no signs of life, only emptiness and desolation. Rotten wood and shattered glass occasionally fell from above, breaking into pieces on the ground. Even more terrifying was the floor itself, cracking beneath Hoffa's feet, revealing the endless clouds below like a bottomless abyss.

Walking through Beauxbatons felt like traversing a dying body.

Olim sobbed quietly. "Look what they've done to my home... Beauxbatons... my school... How did it come to this? The headmaster... the teachers... all gone... all gone..."

Hoffa followed silently, remembering the same despair he felt when he saw the desolate ruins of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts, at least, was built on solid ground—never so fragile. But Beauxbatons was a castle in the sky. Without magical support, it would crumble entirely.

They reached the school hospital, a secluded place less affected by the time flow. However, even here, the rooms showed signs of decay. Pushing open the creaking doors, they saw rows of empty beds.

The first ward was completely ruined, reduced to dust. The students who had been there were long consumed by time.

The second ward was slightly better, but the beds held only blackened skeletons. Olim sobbed harder, unable to bear the sight.

Finally, in the third ward, a few elderly men lay on the beds, their faces lifeless as they stared at the approaching Hoffa and Olim.

With the sound of constant collapses outside, Hoffa quickly lifted one emaciated old man into his arms. Olim followed, carrying others.

Yet the old men showed no gratitude. The one in Hoffa's arms murmured coldly, "Go away... leave us... You wizards will end up like us... powerless... just like us..."

Hoffa ignored him, slinging him over his shoulder.

"You'll be destroyed... just like us... I can't wait to see that day..." muttered another old man as Hoffa hoisted him up.

Their aged voices dripped with venom.

Hoffa carried him too, striding forward.

"I don't need saving... I want to be like you... Can you make me like you?" one struggled weakly.

"No," Hoffa replied flatly, lifting him up as well.

"If you can't, put me down... This world is so unfair... so unfair... I can't take it... I want equality... I want equality..."

The murmuring old men annoyed Hoffa, but he pressed on.

Olim carried a few more students, saying, "This should be all of them."

Hoffa glanced out the window. The towering Sky Gate was crumbling, statues and stones falling like rain.

"Go."

With three on Hoffa's back and three in Olim's arms, they hurried outside.

Just as they reached the hospital entrance, the ground trembled violently. A massive stone beam crashed from the ceiling, punching through the floor and triggering a chain reaction that tore a fissure dozens of meters wide, blocking their path.

"Hoffa... Beauxbatons is about to collapse..." Olim trembled. "Even the clouds are failing..."

"I know..." Hoffa murmured. He could feel the school's magic rapidly fading.

"What do we do?" Olim asked.

Hoffa didn't answer, closing his eyes.

"Hoffa, say something!" Olim urged.

"Get on my back," Hoffa ordered.

"What? Your back? I... I..."

Olim bent down, dodging falling debris, staring at Hoffa—who was three heads shorter—unable to comprehend what he meant. "I'm too tall, Hoffa... I can't... Apparating with so many people won't work... The school is five thousand meters high..."

"Shut up and hold onto my shoulders," Hoffa snapped. "Stop talking!"

With Beauxbatons crumbling around them, gray clouds gathered beneath Hoffa's feet, swirling rapidly. The wind howled as Olim clung to him tightly, one arm around the old men and the other gripping Hoffa's shoulder.

Suddenly, the floor gave way.

They plummeted straight down.

Unable to bear it any longer, Olim drew her wand and tapped it on the three people she held.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

With the incantation, the three of them floated into the sky, but she herself was still plummeting downward. Meanwhile, stones rained from the sky like a storm, crashing toward the three figures in the air.

The breathtaking scene made her scream. She turned to look at the boy beside her—he had no protective measures at all, his eyes almost closed as he fell downward.

"Hoffa!!!"

Olim let out a piercing scream.

Then, dark clouds obscured her vision. The moisture-laden mist made it impossible to see anything, and the deafening roar of thunder drowned out all other sounds. She plummeted at high speed, convinced that this time, she was doomed.

But just as she fell through the clouds, lightning flashed and thunder roared. Olim landed heavily on the back of a massive creature. The tingling sensation on her back made her eyes snap open in shock.

A colossal shadow swept across the sky, its tassel-like wings blotting out the sun.

Trembling, she reached out, standing atop the giant creature's back, her fingers brushing against its blue-green feathers. Faint currents of electricity coursed through them, crackling softly.

The legend was real. But witnessing it firsthand—she found it far more awe-inspiring than any words could describe. A Thunderbird of such magnitude—was this truly something a human could achieve?

Amidst the raging storm, the Thunderbird dove downward at lightning speed, covering several kilometers in the blink of an eye before crashing violently into the dense cliffs of the Pyrenees. Upon impact, the Thunderbird lost balance and tumbled across the ground. As it rolled, Olim was thrown off.

The Thunderbird grew smaller and smaller until, at last, it transformed back into the black-clad boy.

Hoffa collapsed onto the forest floor, panting heavily, his mind buzzing.

How many years had it been since he last felt the pain of magical exhaustion? His magic was still far from its peak, and the forced transformation had left every joint in his body creaking in protest.

Olim got up, approaching Hoffa with a mix of awe and fear.

She wanted to check on the trembling boy, but the overwhelming presence of the giant bird just moments ago made her hesitate.

A distant rumbling echoed across the sky.

Hoffa, lying on the ground, slowly turned his head. Through the thick clouds, massive structures continued to collapse, the ground below resembling a battlefield ravaged by relentless bombardment. Thick smoke billowed into the sky, and the deafening sound of crumbling stone carried clearly across the miles.

Beauxbatons' Sky Kingdom—completely destroyed.

As night fell, Olim carried the motionless Hoffa on her back, dragging a makeshift stretcher cobbled together from branches. On the stretcher lay several elderly men with world-weary eyes. Slowly, they emerged from the dense forests of the Pyrenees.

There, they encountered patrolling Beauxbatons wizards. Upon seeing Olim, the wizards led them to a secluded valley.

In the valley, five winged steeds grazed quietly. Around them, dozens of bonfires burned, their flickering flames illuminating the somber faces of Beauxbatons' survivors. Wizards sat by the fires, weeping softly, their expressions steeped in despair.

An elderly man and a middle-aged figure rose from the fire's edge to greet them.

It was Nicolas Flamel and Don Quixote.

Seeing Olim carrying Hoffa, Flamel immediately said, "Quick, give him to me!"

Don Quixote, meanwhile, led Olim and the ailing students to receive treatment.

Flamel helped Hoffa lie down beside a large rock and asked with concern, "Hoffa, you turned into a Thunderbird?"

Hoffa nodded silently.

Flamel gently patted his head, both relieved and worried. "Magical exhaustion… I'll prepare some potions for you."

Hoffa waved him off. "Just need some rest. Go take care of the students."

But Flamel didn't move. Instead, he spoke with barely contained excitement, "You've done something incredible this time. Because of your decision, thousands of Beauxbatons students were saved."

"Is that so…" Hoffa's expression remained indifferent.

"Including me," Flamel continued, his voice shaking. "I can't even imagine… Hoffa, truly, I can't fathom what would have happened if I had followed Pierre into that castle."

Hoffa wearily shook his head and turned away, signaling for Flamel to stop wasting words. Flamel clearly had more to say but, seeing Hoffa's exhaustion, fell silent.

Lying on the rock, Hoffa tried to recover his magic, but all around him, the cries of grief filled the air. At first, they were restrained, but soon, they grew uncontrollable.

These were the students of Beauxbatons, mourning the loss of their school and home.

"The professors… the headmaster… they're all dead."

"The castle is gone…"

"My home, my school…"

"God… who will save us?"

"Is this the end?"

"My wand… my wand won't work anymore!"

"Help me!"

"Help me!"

The cries reached Hoffa's ears, disrupting his meditation. He opened his eyes and stared at the moon in the night sky.

At some point, these tragedies no longer stirred his emotions. At some point, an invisible chasm had formed between him and these students. At some point, his heart had begun to harden.

He wobbled as he rose to his feet.

As Beauxbatons' savior, his every move was closely watched. Seeing him stand, the students, their faces streaked with tears, gazed at him with desperate hope, yearning for comfort from the legendary young Animagus.

But instead, Hoffa swayed, then suddenly roared, "Cry! Cry all you want! Do you think crying will bring Beauxbatons back?! Is your spirit no more than bricks and mortar?! Is a thousand years of Beauxbatons' legacy nothing more than pretty dresses and decorations?!"

His voice was so powerful that the students fell silent, staring at him in stunned shock.

He pointed at them, scolding, "A bunch of blind fools! At least the people of Beauxbatons are still here! As long as you're alive, you can build a second, a third, a fourth Sky Kingdom! But if you're dead, then Beauxbatons would be nothing but an empty shell, a meaningless husk!"

As he shouted, Hoffa snatched a torch from Olim, leapt down from the rock, and slapped a crying boy across the face. The slap stunned the boy. Without hesitation, Hoffa struck again and again, slapping different students—swift and relentless, leaving them dazed and stumbling backward.

"Pierre spoiled you! Beauxbatons spoiled you!!" He pointed at them furiously. "Luxurious feasts and grand castles have stripped you of your will to fight! The world has never been certain! A thousand years ago, it was the same, and a thousand years from now, it will be the same!! Look at yourselves! How will you face the challenges of this world?!"

"You're so young! Barely teenagers! How can you bow to the darkness lurking in the shadows?! If you want Beauxbatons back, build it with your own hands! If you miss your professors, become one! If someone wants to be headmaster, then step up and lead! If you feel your magic fading—" Hoffa's lips curled, and he bellowed, "Then go and reclaim it! Sitting here wallowing in self-pity—does it help? DOES IT?!"

Hoffa's words ignited something in them. The grief-stricken students no longer wept; instead, a fire kindled in their eyes.

Even those he had struck changed—shock turned to shame, and then to something close to reverence.

"Rebuild Beauxbatons!"

Hoffa raised his torch high.

"Rebuild Beauxbatons!"

"Rebuild Beauxbatons!"

"Rebuild Beauxbatons!"

The students, their faces streaked with tears, raised their hands and echoed his call.

"Reclaim magic!!"

Hoffa continued.

"Reclaim magic!"

"Reclaim magic!"

"Reclaim magic!"

Their cries echoed through the valley, filled with unyielding resolve.

A boy stepped forward, leaping onto the rock. "Hoffa, you'll help us, right? You'll help us reclaim magic, won't you?"

"Of course!"

Hoffa grasped his hand and lifted it high. "I will help you—but I need your help too. Magic isn't only vanishing from Beauxbatons, but also from Hogwarts, and one day, perhaps even Durmstrang. I don't know what their next move is, but their goal is clear—to destroy magic itself. If we can, we must go to Hogwarts. Wizards there are still fighting. In times like these, we must stand together. Completely united!"

(End of Chapter)

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