Harry Potter: I am the Legend

It took Hoffa quite a while to adjust to his peculiar short vacation, the longest break he had in over a year—perhaps even four or five years.

For the past few days, he ate when he wanted, slept when he felt like it, as long as he wasn't afraid of nightmares. He could even spend an entire day curled up in bed without getting up.

However, he still didn't want to have nightmares, so he replaced sleep with meditation almost every day. Ever since his death and subsequent rescue by the God of Night, he could barely tolerate sunlight. As a result, he usually meditated during the day and wandered the streets at night, picking up food from 24-hour convenience stores.

Fortunately, London was an international city with a vibrant nightlife. But don't get the wrong idea—near Downing Street, where many high-ranking Muggle officials worked, there were certainly no red-light districts or chaotic slums.

Since it was wartime, late-night overtime was common among those officials. When one senior official worked late, his entire team had to follow suit. The nights here were unexpectedly lively.

Hoffa often saw cars coming and going behind the tightly closed iron gates of Downing Street. Once, he even spotted a portly man with a black top hat and a ceremonial staff climbing out of a black Daimler DB18.

The first time he saw this, he was fascinated. This was someone on par with Stalin, Roosevelt, and Hitler—figures he had only seen in history books or black-and-white photos.

But after a few days, he got used to it. With his sharp hearing, he could sometimes hear Churchill shouting into a telephone in the dead of night, followed by the rapid clatter of a secretary typing. Occasionally, he even caught the sound of a toilet flushing or Churchill muttering curses while smoking.

There were many hidden but high-end restaurants and bars along the street near Big Ben, all open 24 hours. Even if no one was inside, the warm, elegant orange lights remained on.

However, after visiting one of these places, Hoffa was shocked by the menu prices. He felt like he'd have to kill himself and sell his head to afford a regular meal there.

There were also many high-end tailor shops offering custom suits. Whether it was due to habit or age, Hoffa never liked formal suits. Perhaps if Tom Riddle wore them, they would look fitting, but on Hoffa, they felt suffocating.

He preferred simple workwear or casual outfits. Perhaps he was just naturally inclined toward socialism. Sharp, tailored suits always made him feel a little breathless.

On his second night staying at Miranda's home, he asked her to take him to London's Portobello Road Market on her motorcycle. There, he found a clean, simple outfit. Miranda put a lot of effort into helping him pick clothes, but because of his earrings and hair color, no matter what he wore, he still looked like a street artist. According to Miranda, he was someone who absolutely couldn't attend formal occasions.

When Hoffa moved in, Miranda had sworn to make him breakfast every day. But the reality was, she wasn't a morning person. She usually slept until midday, and by the time she woke up, Hoffa's door would already be locked tight.

In truth, she rarely saw him in person because their schedules were completely opposite. She spent her days carrying out patrol missions assigned by Hogwarts and only returned home for dinner. During those moments, she'd chatter about her day, or they'd go out together to grab some food or snacks.

Hoffa never told Miranda what had happened to him. He felt most people wouldn't be able to accept it. Fortunately, Miranda never pressed him about why he slept during the day. Perhaps she just assumed he spent his nights running around and was simply exhausted.

The short and pleasant vacation flew by like a rocket. Before Hoffa could fully savor it, Christmas arrived. It made him wonder if Mans was still alive, secretly accelerating time a hundredfold.

On Christmas Eve, Hoffa avoided meditating during the day. Before the first snowflake landed on the window, he was already downstairs, drawn by the sound of another man's voice in the living room.

When he squinted into the sunlight and entered the dining room, he saw his old professor, Adbe Gosak, sitting at the table reading a newspaper.

He was a tall man dressed in a gray house robe, his graying hair slightly thinning in the sunlight.

Adbe Gosak, former Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, Head of Ravenclaw House, and Miranda Gosak's grandfather—the only family she had left. He had been Hoffa's Charms professor in his first year and was the one who taught him the spell Shattering Grip. However, in Hoffa's second year, Gosak had left his position due to the war and went to the Soviet Union for unknown tasks. This was the first time Hoffa had seen him in four years.

"Professor Gosak," Hoffa said, quickening his steps.

"Bach, you're up early today?" Adbe remarked casually, as if they'd seen each other just yesterday. "Miranda told me you usually sleep until afternoon."

"That's not true," Hoffa said sheepishly, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Compared to the professor's calm demeanor, Hoffa felt awkward. After all, he was technically a guest, yet he had been staying in this house for days without properly introducing himself.

"Are you comfortable here?" Professor Gosak asked.

"Very comfortable. Miranda is great, and so is Petty," Hoffa replied.

"Good," Gosak said, nodding faintly before waving his wand. A chair slid out from under the table and positioned itself behind him.

"Sit," he said briefly, putting down the newspaper.

Hoffa sat down at the dining table. The Christmas sunlight filtered through the snow-dappled windows and stung his skin slightly.

Just then, Miranda appeared, shuffling in slippers. She wore her usual obsidian earring and had her lips painted a dark shade she'd recently learned to apply.

She didn't greet her grandfather but casually plopped into a sunlit corner of the dining table, muttering a quick "Good morning" to Hoffa. Adbe's brows knitted together at her appearance.

Hoffa was grateful that Miranda unintentionally blocked the sunlight for him, though the atmosphere at the table felt somewhat tense. He knew the two had a strained relationship—Miranda had skipped an entire year of Charms class just to avoid her grandfather.

The family's house-elf, Petty, entered with a large tray, diligently setting out an abundant breakfast: bread, bacon, orange juice, milk, and oatmeal.

"You've been through a lot out there," Adbe said, placing bacon on Hoffa's plate. "You look pale."

"It's fine, I can do it myself," Hoffa stammered, hurriedly taking the plate.

"I've heard about your recent achievements," Adbe said after a moment, his expression unreadable. "You've made significant progress. I'm proud of you."

Hoffa chewed his bacon and noticed the newspaper Adbe had been reading—it was the same one Miranda had shown him about Bournemouth.

Suddenly, he felt a tickle on his foot. He glanced at Miranda, who was calmly spreading jam on her bread while using her toes to playfully draw circles on his foot.

Annoyed, Hoffa stepped on her foot to stop her mischief.

Miranda didn't react, but her lips curved into a faint smirk.

She kicked both feet over, and Hoffa couldn't help but chuckle. He propped his knees against the table, letting his legs dangle as he curled up to drink his porridge, ensuring she couldn't reach him.

Adébé Goshawk glanced at the two of them and shook his head almost imperceptibly. After an otherwise silent breakfast, Goshawk wiped his thin lips and called out toward the distance, "Petty."

A neatly dressed house-elf peeked its head out from behind the kitchen, gloved hands folded politely. "What is it, Master?"

"Prepare more vegetarian dishes. I have some political guests coming over tonight," Goshawk said.

The elf looked surprised. "But Miss said there would only be three people."

Miranda also looked up in surprise. "Yeah, we agreed it would just be the three of us."

"Things have changed," Professor Goshawk said, his expression softening slightly as he looked at Hoffa. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Hoffa replied quickly, smiling. "If it's inconvenient, I can leave early."

"No."

Adébé Goshawk's tone was firm. "You must stay."

Hoffa's expression stiffened slightly before he nodded.

"Very well."

Professor Goshawk nodded in satisfaction. "Miranda, take him to Anderson & Sheppard and collect the clothing. And clean up that third-world thug attire of yours. Don't embarrass me tonight." He glanced disapprovingly at Miranda's ears and mouth.

Creak! With a sharp, ear-piercing sound, the silver spoon in Miranda's hand was twisted into a spiral. She looked up, adjusted her glasses, and said nothing.

"Look at him, and then look at yourself."

Professor Goshawk ignored his granddaughter's displeasure. He sighed, stood up, and said, "You're old enough now to start thinking about your future." With that, he headed upstairs.

The study door closed with a heavy thud. Hoffa slowly lifted his head from the dining table, uncertain whether Goshawk's last words were directed at him, Miranda, or both. After all, he also wore an earring.

"That old man," Miranda muttered, wiping her mouth. The twisted spoon in her hand returned to its original shape, and she threw it into her bowl. "We agreed it would just be family tonight. Now he's inviting a bunch of outsiders over. Who spends Christmas Eve in someone else's home anyway?"

"I must be the sick one," Hoffa muttered gloomily.

"Oh, I didn't mean you," Miranda said quickly, grabbing his hand.

"I think Professor Goshawk means well," Hoffa said, pulling his hand away.

"Sure, it's always 'for my own good.' What a perfect excuse."

Miranda slouched back in her chair. "Do you want to come with me to Savile Row to buy clothes?"

"I don't want to go out."

Hoffa thought the outfit would likely be worn just once since he planned to leave the next day. Spending money on it seemed pointless, and he really didn't want to go out during the day.

"Then I'll just pick a random shop and grab a suit," Miranda said. "After all, those Ministry people don't know a thing about Muggle fashion."

"Sounds good."

Hoffa felt slightly better.

Twelve hours later, he stood in front of his bedroom mirror. With the house-elf Petty's help, he tied an elegant gray bow tie around his neck. He felt as though he had walked into a trap. The outfit was anything but casually bought—it was meticulously tailored to his exact measurements. Hoffa knew Savile Row's reputation; such craftsmanship wasn't possible without a prior appointment.

"It suits you perfectly, Mr. Bach," Petty said, standing beside the mirror, holding a stack of deep gray fabric. The elf's eyes sparkled with admiration as it circled Hoffa. "You should dress like this every day. So dignified!"

"Thank you, Petty," Hoffa said, dressed in a crisp white shirt. "I'll put on the clothes myself. May I have some privacy?"

"Of course! But you're so cute when you're shy, Mr. Bach," Petty said in its sharp little voice, placing the clothes in Hoffa's hands before scurrying away in pink slippers.

Once alone, Hoffa didn't change immediately. Instead, he sat down on the bed, hands tangled in his hair. Memories flooded back—another time, another place in England, when a girl's butler had also asked him to exchange his casual clothes for an elegant suit.

The two scenes blurred together in his mind. Intense guilt clawed at him. His fingers dragged from his scalp down his face, nails digging into his cheeks as if trying to tear his face off.

Again and again!

He looked into the mirror at his bloodied face and let out a silent, feral roar, his expression twisted like a dragon in pain.

"That won't happen again," a voice echoed in his head.

"How do you know!?" The reflection in the mirror turned sharply, glaring at the glass orb on the bedside table.

"You're not someone who makes the same mistake twice," the creature in the orb said calmly. "You have an intense self-correcting mechanism, though it sometimes goes overboard. But it's a rare strength."

"You've caused me countless nightmares."

Hoffa, with ten claw marks on his face, stood before the orb. "I've stumbled because of you more than once."

"Those are just your own insecurities projected outward. I merely let you see them," the creature said. "One day, you'll thank those nightmares. You'll even seek them out."

"Like hell I will," Hoffa muttered. Under the moonlight, his face healed rapidly. He turned to the mirror and silently put on the tailored suit.

The creature in the orb watched him quietly.

"Tell me, do you know what's going to happen?" Hoffa asked as he brushed his hair.

"I don't. I'm no seer, nor do I have the power to interfere with reality anymore. I rely only on experience. And experience tells me there are no surprises under the sun."

"Then what does Goshawk want with me?"

"You underestimate your value, Bach. You're one of the wizarding world's most formidable assets. If he could keep you close, he might even consider marrying off that granddaughter of his to you."

Snap!

Hoffa nearly drove the comb into his skull.

"Are you ready?" Miranda's nervous voice came from outside.

Damn it.

He pulled the comb free. "Yes."

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09