Harry Potter: I am the Legend

"Is it as simple as just going in?"

Under a red public phone booth on a snowy London street, Hoffa held an umbrella and asked Miranda, "Just a phone call, and we're there?"

Snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the entire city in white. Any pedestrian venturing out could only see others above the knee due to the snow's depth—an unprecedented snowfall in London's history. Snowflakes gathered on their shoulders, and the streets were eerily empty.

"Not that simple," Miranda replied, standing beside the phone booth. "Visitors need to report in advance."

She picked up the rotary dial of the phone and spun it a few times. After a brief wait, a cold male voice responded on the other end:

"Ministry of Magic. State your name and purpose."

"Miranda Goshawk. I'm here to retrieve something Adébée Goshawk left in the office."

"Understood," the man's indifferent voice replied. "Please present your identification, and I'll activate the elevator for you immediately."

The rotary dial transformed into a coin slot with a metallic click. Miranda hung up and fished a brass coin from her pocket.

"Let me see that," Hoffa said, extending his hand toward the coin.

"What's so fascinating about a coin?" Miranda asked, puzzled, just as she was about to insert it into the phone's slot.

"Hold on," Hoffa covered the coin slot with his hand. "We need to discuss something to avoid any unforeseen problems down there."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "What's there to discuss?"

Hoffa retracted his hand, shrugging. "For instance, the Ministry of Magic is massive. How will I find the Minister's office?"

"Don't worry. I know the way," Miranda replied confidently. "It's on the first floor, but you have to go deep inside."

She tried again to insert the brass coin into the slot, but Hoffa blocked her hand. He hesitated and asked, "Will there be many people? Are we going to face thorough inspections?"

Miranda frowned. "Of course, there'll be checks. Even regular visitors are questioned by security wizards, let alone someone heading to the Minister's office. But you're skilled with Disillusionment Charms, aren't you? We'll go unnoticed."

"True," Hoffa muttered before suddenly looking over Miranda's shoulder with a startled expression. "Professor Adébée?!"

Startled, Miranda spun around but saw only the swirling snow.

"Sorry," came Hoffa's voice from behind.

She instinctively turned back, catching Hoffa's hand as it aimed for the back of her head. Clenching her jaw, she hid the brass coin behind her back and glared at him. "I knew you were up to something! You talked me into coming here, but all you've done is stall!"

"Give me the coin," Hoffa said helplessly. "Come on."

"Not a chance!"

Miranda felt Hoffa's wrist grow unnaturally heavy, as though she were holding up a crane arm instead of a human hand. "I won't let you leave me behind again!"

"I can't risk it anymore," Hoffa said quietly. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, catching her off guard. Her face turned red, and in that fleeting moment of distraction, the snow on the ground spiraled upward, locking her legs in place.

Hoffa gripped Miranda's shoulders, turned her around, and pried the coin from her hand. He closed his fist tightly around it.

Outside the phone booth, the swirling snow quickly formed an icy chamber. He pushed Miranda out of the booth and into the makeshift cell.

Realizing what had happened, Miranda tried to rush out, but the chamber's icy walls turned into unyielding locks, sealing her inside like a bank vault.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Furious pounding echoed from the phone booth, accompanied by the sound of spells futilely striking the icy restraints.

"You scoundrel!"

"Hoffa, you absolute scoundrel!!"

"My biggest regret is ever meeting you!"

"Well, I'm glad I met you," Hoffa said softly, pressing his hand against the icy chamber. "Rest here tonight. The spell will wear off by morning."

"Go to hell! I never want to see you again!"

"You don't understand anything!"

"Unless you open this door, don't ever show your face in front of me again!"

"Hey, hey, are you listening?"

Her muffled shouts faded as Hoffa stepped back into the phone booth, closing the door behind him. He inserted the brass coin into the machine. The booth trembled, and the snow-covered street outside rose higher and higher as he sank underground. Darkness enveloped him, the only sound the grating, monotonous screech of the descending elevator.

Hoffa's expression remained calm, his hands clasped behind his back.

After about a minute, the elevator stopped with a slight jolt. Pale light spilled onto his feet as the doors opened, gradually illuminating his body.

"Merry Christmas, Goshawk," a cold, ethereal voice said from above.

Looking up, Hoffa spotted a wizard perched behind a high counter, like a bird in a lofty nest. Wearing a pointed hat, the wizard sat stiffly, staring down in confusion at the empty elevator.

Hoffa had already disappeared into the shadow realm, walking silently among the gray hues of the Ministry. The shadow-walking technique, once draining five years ago, now came effortlessly.

He passed the bewildered wizard and entered a vast hall lined with fireplaces embedded in polished wooden panels. Empty and unlit, they resembled gravestones.

The dark wood floors gleamed, and the peacock-blue ceiling was adorned with dull golden symbols, motionless and somber.

In this stillness, Hoffa's footsteps echoed faintly as he remembered Miranda's words:

"Just on the first floor, but you have to go deep inside."

He ventured deeper into the Ministry, entering a corridor unlike the ones above. It had no doors or windows—just a long, dark pathway. High above, countless gargoyles were carved into the marble ceiling, their wings outstretched and postures varied, as if holding up something invisible.

Though Hoffa could shadow-walk indefinitely, he still had to exit the shadow realm briefly every ten seconds. In that momentary interval, he would reappear in the real world.

But this time, something unusual occurred.

In the shadow realm, Hoffa spotted another creature.

It rested atop the gargoyles, its long tail draped over them. Its body was transparent, its snout crocodilian, and it measured nearly ten meters long. Razor-sharp claws gripped the gargoyles' heads as it slept.

Startled, Hoffa retreated to the real world, preparing to strike preemptively. But when he returned, the creature was gone.

The gargoyles' raised arms held nothing.

When Hoffa reentered the shadow realm, the creature was awake. It rose and fixed its colorless eyes on him, startled.

As Hoffa moved, the creature reacted like a wary lizard. It slithered down from the gargoyles with alarming speed, vanishing into the corridor's depths.

At the moment the transparent, peculiar dragon-shaped creature slipped away, the eyes of the lofty gargoyle statues began to glow with a blue light. With a series of clicking sounds, they unfurled their wings, shedding dust as they did so. To Hoffa's astonishment, the statues came to life, twisting their rigid heads to stare directly at him in the shadows.

"Something's off," Hoffa thought. For them to detect his presence in the shadows—it was indeed a testament to the Ministry of Magic's defenses.

Every gargoyle in the corridor had animated, their grinding movements echoing ominously as they crawled toward him. Hoffa had no intention of causing chaos or drawing widespread attention to himself in this place, so he prepared to leave immediately.

Just then, a figure emerged from around the corner.

"Who's there?" she called.

Instantly, all the gargoyles froze, returning to their stone forms. Yet, their heads remained locked in Hoffa's direction.

The newcomer was a bald woman, her hands folded gracefully at her waist. She exuded an air of solemnity, dressed in a white lace gown characteristic of the 19th century. The high, flowing dress lent her an unmistakably Gothic, vintage aura.

"Is that you, Bach?"

The bald woman asked, her tone calm. "If it is, come out. I promise I won't harm you."

Hoffa slowly revealed himself, stepping out of his shadowy concealment. In the dim corridor, the young man and the bald woman faced each other.

"How did you know it was me?" Hoffa asked Delphina.

"I guessed," Delphina replied. "The night watchman just informed me that a trainee logged entry into the Ministry but was never seen actually coming in. I suspected an intruder."

With a sly smile, she added, "To infiltrate the most heavily guarded magical stronghold in all of Britain, unnoticed—it could only be you."

Her subtle compliment did nothing to soften Hoffa's wariness. Tense and focused, he stared at the pale, statuesque woman before him and cut straight to the point: "I need to see Fatiyr. Take me to him."

Delphina raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "The Minister of Magic is quite busy. Normally, to meet him, one must first register with the gatekeeper wizard, who will then forward the application to me. If I deem it—"

"Take me to Fatiyr," Hoffa interrupted, repeating himself firmly.

Delphina sighed, spreading her hands. "You're so stubborn, Hoffa. You never listen to anyone."

Turning on her heel, she began walking deeper into the corridor. "If you insist, follow me."

Hoffa quickly caught up, walking beside her in silence. After three minutes of hushed footsteps, he broke the silence. "Have we met before? Before Paris, I mean."

"Why do you ask?"

"You seem familiar. Your name rings a bell, too."

"Perhaps I owe you money?"

Delphina chuckled elegantly, stopping in front of a black door. She knocked twice.

"Come in," a tired voice responded from inside.

The door opened to reveal a familiar figure seated alone in an office, reviewing documents. The dimly lit room didn't hinder Hoffa's vision. He saw piles of books and papers towering around Fatiyr, whose desk seemed engulfed by the workload. Blue candle flames flickered on the walls, their cold light casting ripples across the gleaming marble floor like reflections on a dark, still lake.

Hoffa's senses picked up something slithering through the room, avoiding his gaze. Even without stepping into the shadow realm, he recognized it as the peculiar creature he had encountered outside.

"Hoffa Bach is here," Delphina announced formally. "He says he has something to discuss with you."

Fatiyr paused, setting his pen down. He looked up from behind the towering stack of documents, his silver hair framing piercing blue eyes that gleamed with inscrutable light.

Seeing Fatiyr's face, a pang of melancholy struck Hoffa.

He detested Fatiyr and avoided him not only because his decisions had led to Aglaia's death but also because of his striking resemblance to his daughter. Especially those eyes—nearly identical. Hoffa finally understood why people often remarked on familial resemblances in one's eyes; they truly could stir powerful memories.

"I see," Fatiyr said simply, showing no surprise or concern about Hoffa's intrusion into the Ministry. He returned to his paperwork and addressed Delphina, "You may leave. Let him stay."

"Take care," Delphina replied with a polite nod. Before leaving, she mischievously swatted Hoffa on the backside.

Startled, Hoffa jumped aside, glaring at her in confusion. But Delphina strolled out gracefully, as if nothing had happened.

"Have you eaten dinner?" Fatiyr asked casually, his focus still on his work.

"I have."

"Adebay took care of you?"

"Yes."

"My apologies for being too busy to see you," he said, still immersed in his documents.

Curious, Hoffa wandered closer, stopping by Fatiyr's desk. He picked up a file labeled "Conference on Wizarding Unity." The document was filled with annotations and detailed notes. Setting it down, he picked up another, "U.S. Wizarding Congress War Aid Plan."

Fatiyr made no move to stop him. After that initial glance, he had paid Hoffa no further attention, continuing his work as though the boy weren't even there.

"You know," Hoffa began, flipping through another document, "outside, the most common complaint I hear about you is your inaction. They say you shut yourself away, ignoring affairs of state. But here you are, working even on Christmas Eve."

Fatiyr let out a brief, mocking laugh. "If you ever sit in my position, they'll say the same about you. Wartime leaders face one of two fates: deification or vilification. Unfortunately, I'm the latter, because, like you, I disdain explaining myself to fools."

Placing the document down, Hoffa softened slightly. After all, Fatiyr was Aglaia's father.

He pushed aside some papers, leaning on the desk. In a low voice, he said, "Do you realize how dangerous you are, Fatiyr?"

Fatiyr continued writing. "Adebay told you about the plan?"

"No, I overheard it."

"Good. At least he had the sense not to involve outsiders."

Frustrated by Fatiyr's indifference, Hoffa pressed his hand on the man's, halting his writing. "Tell me what you're doing. Why did you ask me to bring Chloe LeMay to Britain?"

"It's none of your concern. Mind your own business."

"Are you planning to go back a year and a half?" Hoffa's voice dropped to a whisper.

Finally, Fatiyr stopped working. He slowly raised his head, his blue eyes shimmering with an unfamiliar light.

"Would you want me to go back a year and a half?"

Hoffa hesitated, inner turmoil gripping him. Two opposing forces warred within his soul, stretching him taut. After a long pause, he nodded, his voice barely audible. "Yes, I would."

A faint smile spread across Fatiyr's face. Rising, he walked around the desk and grasped Hoffa's hand. "I knew I wasn't wrong about you," he said, his tone brimming with conviction. "You love Aglaia. That means we're on the same side."

Hoffa stared at him, dumbfounded.

"I have no one I can trust, except you," Fatiyr continued earnestly. "Tell me, will you help me?"

"I already have, Fatiyr," Hoffa replied, withdrawing his hand. "But I must say—"

"I'm sorry, Hoffa," Fatiyr interrupted. "I don't plan to go back a year and a half to revive her."

"What?" Hoffa was stunned, his prepared arguments derailed.

Fatiyr turned, his hands clasped behind his back. "Reviving someone is meaningless. Even though she's my daughter and I love her deeply, it would only address the symptoms, not the root cause."

Hoffa stared at him in disbelief.

Fatiyr clenched his fists. "If Grindelwald were still alive, he would find countless ways to torment the world. He is the true source of all evil."

"Then what are you—"

Fatiyr spun around, his black cloak billowing like a dragon spreading its wings. His eyes burned with rage and hatred, their intensity like blazing flames.

"I'm going back fifty years," he declared. "To kill Grindelwald before he rises to power and sever the root of all calamities."

(End of Chapter)

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