Harry Potter: I am the Legend

"You're not leaving?" Hoffa glanced at her.

"No rush," Delphina replied lazily. With a twist of her fingers, a letter appeared between them. "This letter is from Norbert; he asked me to give it to you."

She flicked the letter through the air, and Hoffa caught it precisely between his fingers.

"Oh, and as a reward, we've arranged for him to transport various alchemical equipment for the Ministry of Magic. From now on, if you want to continue your arms trade, you won't have to sneak around anymore. Of course, that's limited to Allied territories."

"That's fantastic," Hoffa said flatly. He accepted the letter but didn't rush to open it. Instead, he asked, "Back in France, when I stepped away for just a moment, you all vanished. Then the German army arrived. Was that really just a coincidence?"

"Coincidence? There are no coincidences. Everything is arranged by fate." Delphina placed her hands on her waist, exuding an air of dignified elegance.

"Right. So why didn't you bring her back yourself? I'd think you're much faster than me," Hoffa squinted at her.

"Oh please, I'm a woman. Honestly, I have no interest in spending half a year chatting with someone of the same gender. Would you want to be stuck with another man for that long?"

She smirked, raising a slender finger to lift Hoffa's chin. "Of course, if possible, I'd love to have a thrilling adventure with a handsome guy like you."

Smack! Hoffa swatted her hand away, glaring at her coldly.

But Delphina didn't seem offended. She blew him a playful kiss, then spun elegantly on her heel and disappeared around the corner of the street.

Watching her leave, Hoffa couldn't shake the feeling that she was trouble. But he had already made up his mind to leave, so he pushed the thought aside and focused on the letter in his hand.

He unfolded it, revealing chaotic handwriting:

[The Ministry has given me permission to privately trade arms. I think we're going to strike it big. The place with the highest demand right now is the Far East. I'm heading to the Soviet Union. Once you're done escorting that girl, come find me in Moscow. Let's do something huge! —Norbert Hagrid]

"Do something huge..."

Hoffa couldn't help but grin. Despite the cold and distant prospect of traveling to the Soviet Union, it was at least a destination. He wasn't wandering aimlessly.

Tucking the letter away, he hurried toward the docks in London. For some reason, he couldn't stand staying in England for even one more minute, like a criminal desperate to flee the scene of a crime.

The streets were filled with people in winter robes, while Hoffa still wore a summer shirt. A journey that should've taken a day had stretched into nearly six months, filled with detours and unexpected delays. He hadn't even had time to change clothes.

By midnight, he reached the docks. The ticket booth was closed, but he managed to ask a night guard about a ferry to Murmansk, a Soviet port. There was a cargo ship leaving the next morning. All he had to do was wait.

Checking the time, Hoffa decided to rest until daylight. He found a battered bench in the dock square and sat down, planning to pass the hours in meditation.

The square was littered with homeless people wrapped in newspapers. Empty liquor bottles lay scattered under every bench.

As soon as he began to meditate, nightmares crept back into his mind. Alone in the silence, the horrifying memories became unbearably vivid. Irritated, he abandoned meditation. Nearby, someone had left an adult magazine on a bench.

Without hesitation, Hoffa picked it up and flipped through it. The content was much like the sleazy magazines of later years—cheap photos of third-rate actresses in provocative poses, except these were black and white.

The only color on the pages was a sickly yellow-brown stain splattered across nearly every page. Who knew what the poor magazine had endured?

"For crying out loud..."

Hoffa muttered and continued flipping through, trying to distract himself from the haunting images in his head.

Suddenly.

A slender, pale finger pressed down on the cover of the magazine, slowly pulling it away.

A husky voice said, "Hey, Hoffa. Long time no see."

Hoffa had been leaning back on the bench, looking upward at the magazine. The voice came from behind him, and he tilted his head back.

From his upside-down perspective, he immediately recognized her.

The shoulder-length chestnut hair, the round, rimless glasses, the sharp chin—it was her.

Like a bolt of electricity, Hoffa jumped up from the bench, stumbling back a few steps.

"Miranda!"

His voice was a mix of shock and joy. He quickly patted down his shirt, adjusted his collar, and smoothed his wind-tousled hair, trying to look less haggard.

"You—how are you here?!"

He stammered, completely unprepared to see her—one of his closest friends and one of his most dangerous rivals.

Compared to a year ago, Miranda had changed significantly. She had grown taller, around 5'5", and no longer looked like the small, bookish girl he remembered.

She wore a black studded biker jacket, black shorts, and knee-high combat boots. Her pale legs were striking, and her face was adorned with a moody, ethereal makeup look. Black obsidian earrings dangled from her ears, and her sharp eyebrows added to her edgy vibe. But Hoffa could tell her makeup skills were still amateurish—the lipstick was too dark, and the blending was uneven.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Miranda squinted at him. "This is London. Why shouldn't I be here?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"Exactly. Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Miranda retorted, holding up the adult magazine and waving it mockingly in his face. "You've changed. Matured, huh?"

"Damn it..."

Hoffa's face turned crimson. Of all people to catch him with such a magazine—it had to be Miranda. Classic Murphy's Law.

He ran a hand over his face and waved dismissively, trying to change the subject. "Alright, alright. How did you know I was here?"

"I was passing by," Miranda said casually, tossing the magazine aside. "Out drinking with friends. I saw you on the way."

"And you even learned how to do makeup," Hoffa smirked, teasing her.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Do you like it?" Then she added with a smirk, "And you—what happened to you? Did mining in Africa not work out, so you came back to scavenge bottles?"

Her sharp tongue made Hoffa burst into laughter. The tension vanished as he bent over, clutching his stomach. It had been so long since he'd laughed like that.

The homeless people nearby grumbled, awakened by his laughter.

But Hoffa didn't care. In that moment, everything felt just a little bit lighter.

"There's no other way. I can only collect scraps to barely make a living." Hoffa slumped into a chair, looking utterly defeated.

Miranda let out a soft chuckle. Paired with her world-weary makeup, her smile felt like ice melting under the sun. But the smile quickly vanished as she composed herself. "Where are you planning to go?"

Hands stuffed into her pockets, she asked.

"The Soviet Union."

Hoffa replied, "A friend of mine runs an alchemy workshop there. He says I can smuggle arms, live in luxury, and climb to the peak of life."

Miranda smiled briefly but then sighed. She reached into the pocket of her black jacket, pulling out two sheets of paper and handing them to Hoffa.

Hoffa took them and looked. One was a newspaper, and the other was a wanted notice.

The newspaper was the latest edition of The Prophet Daily. The bold headline in oversized font screamed: "Shocking! Dark Wizard Grindelwald's Disciple, Hoffa Bach, Appears in Britain—Slaughters Hundreds of Vampires!"

Below the headline was a photo of him walking side by side with Tom Riddle at the Cloud Base. Hoffa had no idea when that photo was taken.

The accompanying article detailed the vampire incident in Bournemouth. There was no mention of Mans; instead, it painted Hoffa as having killed numerous German wizards and swarms of vampires.

He then glanced at the wanted notice. The photo showed him with a grim expression, head turned slightly to the side, exuding a villainous aura. Hoffa didn't even get to read the dense German text before his eyes caught the large bounty amount at the bottom.

"I thought you'd fare better out there, but you're just as troublesome as ever," Miranda sighed. "Germany has issued a death warrant for you. Your head is worth enough Galleons to buy half of Norway. I can guarantee that if you step off this dock, you'll face endless assassination attempts."

Hoffa calmly read through the newspaper and the wanted notice before handing them back.

He had failed to capture Mans and had destroyed a fragment of Tom Riddle's soul. Returning to Slughorn was out of the question. The truth had leaked during the cleanup, and all of Mans' actions, good or bad, were now pinned on him—exactly as he had once foreseen.

Miranda crushed the newspaper and the wanted notice in her hand, and the papers dissolved into ash in mid-air. She then sat down beside Hoffa, concern evident on her face. "You can't leave. Stay in Britain. It's still relatively safe here."

"No."

Hoffa's voice was calm but firm. "I already bought a ticket for tomorrow morning's six o'clock ship."

"Are you insane?" Miranda's eyes widened in disbelief. "The Imperial Wizarding Association's influence spans the globe. They could assassinate the President of the United States without anyone stopping them."

"If that's the case, then staying in Britain won't make a difference. What's done is done," Hoffa said, his tone detached, as if he were discussing someone else's fate.

"I can..." Miranda's voice trembled slightly. "I can protect you."

Hoffa smiled faintly and flicked her forehead with his finger. "It's good to see you, Miranda. But go home now; it's getting late."

The girl stood up abruptly, her expression twisting into anger. Combined with her gothic makeup, her face looked both furious and chilling. "A year and a half without a single letter, and now you're telling me to leave the moment we meet?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "I must have come to the wrong person."

Hoffa was caught off guard by her sudden outburst. A few nearby vagrants, awakened by the commotion, began jeering.

"Hey, little missy, if he doesn't want you, Uncle here does!"

"Come to Daddy, I'll treat you real nice!"

"Aren't your legs cold in those short shorts at night?"

"Hahaha!"

(Slurping sound)

Miranda's face sharpened, her grin revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. She turned her head slightly, glaring at the vagrants while reaching for her glasses.

Hoffa's heart skipped a beat. He remembered her terrifying dark side and quickly pressed her glasses back onto her face. Grabbing her wrist, he stomped on the ground.

The chair beneath him, along with the glass bottles scattered underneath, shattered into dust. The sudden explosion sent shards flying into the faces of the heckling vagrants, who stumbled back, cursing and brushing glass from their clothes. One of them even grabbed a bottle, preparing to retaliate.

But when they looked up, the dock was empty. Hoffa and Miranda had vanished without a trace.

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09