Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The wind rose from the eternally mist-shrouded Scottish Highlands, blowing westward over gravel hills and through cedar forests, carrying an icy chill as it swept through the dark, chaotic Forbidden Forest.

As the wind crossed an invisible boundary, it rushed over the icy Black Lake, gathering cold droplets of mist, whipping Hofar's black cloak, and rustling his brown wizard's leggings, sending his cloak billowing behind him.

Despite postponing the Nightmare God's offer once more, he had traversed mountains to return to Hogwarts. He could not stand idly by while Grindelwald carried out his schemes, nor could he resign himself to helplessness and fall into another cycle of fate. He had to act.

Yet, memories seemed to shift at this moment. Beside him was a fanatic riding a mountain troll, while in the distance, beneath fluttering triangular banners, swarmed crowds of tiny figures like streams flowing into the sea.

The original story never depicted such a massive gathering. The Triwizard Tournament was merely a small-scale competition between three schools, nothing comparable to the global spectacle of the Quidditch World Cup.

Hofar had no idea which of his actions had triggered this butterfly effect, unleashing such a storm.

At that moment, along the shores of the Black Lake, crowds swarmed like an army of ants, flooding into the Quidditch stadium stands until the entrances were completely blocked.

Hogwarts' anti-Apparition enchantments had been lifted. Wizards speaking various dialects Apparated from all corners of the world to Hogwarts.

The Quidditch stands had been magically expanded a hundredfold. The sky buzzed with countless flying broomsticks. On the ground, a vast crowd of oddly dressed wizards gathered—some with snakes coiled around their necks, others with toads perched atop their heads, flicking their tongues to catch flies. Some waved their wands, producing crackling bursts of magic.

There were those clad in luxurious robes, while others appeared ragged and worn. Some arrived alone, while others brought their entire families. Some bore kind and peaceful expressions, indifferent to the world, while others were cruel and vicious, their faces marked by violence.

Every type of person was present.

Hofar read the news and knew what Grindelwald was planning. He intended to lure all the wizards to Hogwarts and slaughter them en masse. In his words, he sought to "free them from their dream."

Hofar knew this was nothing but a madman's massacre, yet he had no viable solution. Nicolas Flamel had injected him with more sepsis potion than expected, leaving him no match for Grindelwald.

His only option now was to stop Harry Potter from touching the trophy. If Voldemort did not return, Nicolas Flamel would not use the resurrection spell to bring back Chloe. As long as he could delay Chloe's resurrection, he still had time to devise a plan.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Somewhere in the magically expanded stands, someone started beating a drum—perhaps a druidic priest or a shaman from a mountain troll tribe.

The rhythm made the crowd feverish. They began to dance wildly, tossing their hair. At the center of the Quidditch pitch, dense vegetation grew rampantly, intertwining as it reached skyward. Within moments, a towering hedge formed a labyrinth.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The drumbeats intensified. A thin mist spread through the imposing maze, and within the fog, unseen beasts roared.

The wind rose again, sweeping through the fervent crowd. The icy chill vanished, replaced by a savage heat, mirroring the emotions surging through the masses.

Before reaching the highest stone wall of Hogwarts, the wind's wild energy dissipated entirely. It spiraled upward around the castle's central tower, slipping through an open window at its peak.

Inside, fully armed, Grindelwald shuddered slightly as the gust kissed him. He flexed his fingers around the Elder Wand, securing his long white hair with a narrow leather strap. His face was expressionless, as if carved from stone.

"Looks like everyone who is awake has arrived," he murmured, turning around. His back morphed into the familiar figure of Dumbledore.

The last rays of sunlight streamed into the headmaster's office. Fawkes flitted restlessly among the branches. Before Dumbledore's desk, countless silver-glass bottles held swirling, cloud-like memories.

He stepped out of the office as a booming voice echoed outside. It was Ludo Bagman.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes, I will invite you all to the Quidditch pitch to witness the final task of the Triwizard Tournament."

Ludo Bagman beamed, holding a microphone: "First, I'd like to extend our gratitude to Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Fine Wizardwear, Nimbus, and Silver Arrow for their generous sponsorship. Of course, we are also honored to welcome the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, and the European Wizarding Association—"

He went on for nearly ten minutes, listing names until the audience, growing impatient, began booing loudly. Finally, he put down his notes and skillfully raised a hand.

"Now, let's welcome our four champions!"

In the lavender dusk, the four champions emerged from the four corners of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!" Ludo Bagman announced excitedly. "Here are the current scores! Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter—85 points, tied for first place, representing Hogwarts!" Applause and cheers sent birds scattering from the Forbidden Forest into the darkening sky. "Viktor Krum—80 points, second place, representing Durmstrang!" Another round of applause. "Fleur Delacour—third place, representing Beauxbatons!"

"Damn it, we're not inside yet!"

"There's no room!"

"Make way! Make way!"

"Is anyone organizing this?"

Tens of thousands of people crowded before the ivory gates, causing an uproar. Yet, their noise was soon drowned out by the cheers inside the stadium.

Hofar was among the throng. The density of the crowd was worse than the New York Stock Exchange during a bull market. The match had begun, yet he was still stuck outside this wall of people.

But he was prepared. He pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and tossed it high into the air. As it soared, a shower of Galleons rained down like golden droplets. These weren't transfigured coins or leprechaun gold; they were real, freshly withdrawn from Gringotts—his "father's" personal fortune.

Having experienced six thousand cycles of reincarnation, Hofar had become indifferent. Most things in this world were fleeting illusions, disappearing in an instant. If he was doomed to return to the past, then what did the wealth of this era matter?

Other wizards lacked Hofar's detachment. The congested crowd immediately forgot about entering the stadium, erupting into joyous cheers.

Galleons rained down, gleaming in the air, even catching Ludo Bagman's eye. He eyed the golden shower suspiciously. If he hadn't been tricked by leprechaun gold at the Quidditch World Cup, he might have rushed in to grab some himself.

As the crowd scrambled, some individuals appeared dazed, their eyes unfocused—lost in dreams or reality, it was impossible to tell.

Hofar had no time to care. Seizing the moment while others were bent over grabbing coins, he pushed through the crowd, stepping over their backs as if walking a tightrope. Without looking back, he dashed into the labyrinth of the Triwizard Tournament final.

From the stands, Grindelwald watched the golden rain and the middle-aged man beneath it. He sneered coldly. "Foolish boy."

Lowering his binoculars, he turned to a one-eyed, one-legged man beside him. "The time has come. Let's give our audience their final performance."

The man's palm ignited in roaring flames. "As you wish, Father."

With that, he floated into the air like a blazing meteor, vanishing into the labyrinth below.

But now, he could only rely on his own two legs to walk, which was far too inefficient.

Still, complaining was pointless. Without hesitation, he randomly picked a path and plunged straight in.

The moment he stepped into the dense labyrinth of the jungle, he heard the sound of vegetation rapidly growing and closing up behind him. At the same time, the maze ahead split into new paths. The entire labyrinth felt alive—mysterious and eerie.

After running for nearly thirty minutes, Hoffa stopped in his tracks. Something felt off. Aside from the different shapes of the intersections, the maze looked exactly the same as when he had first entered.

There was no sign of Harry Potter or Cedric Diggory, nor any trace of the Triwizard Cup. A sense of urgency crept into his heart.

Others might not know, but he understood exactly what that trophy was—it was a Portkey leading to Voldemort's resurrection site. If Voldemort returned, the avalanche of fate would crush him beyond redemption, and he would be trapped in another fifty-year cycle.

He couldn't accept that.

Rustling.

The vegetation grew wildly, vines slithered like serpents.

The more anxious he felt, the denser the maze became. Not only did the plants grow more luxuriant, but the vines and branches twisted into grotesque, exaggerated grins that flashed past him, as if silently mocking him.

Realizing that his state of mind was affecting his surroundings, Hoffa closed his eyes and sat cross-legged to meditate.

His heartbeat gradually slowed, and his breathing steadied. The floating specks of Lumos light flickered out one by one. When he opened his eyes again, his mind was no longer fixated on stopping Harry from touching the cup. He had calmed down, and the bushes and vines around him finally ceased their relentless growth.

Jingle, jingle.

Just then, a melodious bell rang from the distance.

Accompanied by the bell was the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the ground.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Something heavy was approaching.

Hoffa instinctively halted. From the depths of the dark labyrinth, a white male unicorn emerged, its entire body emitting a faint, silvery glow, like a walking lantern—impossible to miss.

Hoffa's eyes widened. He had seen many unicorns before, but never one as magnificent as this.

This unicorn was at least twice as strong as an ordinary one. Its silver mane rippled in the air like a flowing spring. Its four legs were long and muscular, its body lean and powerful without an ounce of excess flesh. Its tail was neatly braided, adorned with agate and jewels.

Atop its thick, black horn, two bright red cords were tied, suspending a small bell. The bell swayed in the breeze, producing a crisp sound and exuding an unfamiliar yet pleasant fragrance. Around its massive horn, butterflies and tiny, colorful birds flitted and chirped incessantly.

The majestic creature strutted past Hoffa with an air of arrogance, its head held high, completely ignoring him as if he were beneath its notice.

Hoffa stood frozen, watching its imposing figure disappear into the depths of the maze. It took him a moment to snap back to reality.

"What the—"

A unicorn appearing in the maze puzzled him. From what he knew of the original story, the final maze contained Blast-Ended Skrewts and giant spiders—but unicorns? Could it be that Harry simply never encountered one in his perspective?

He couldn't figure it out.

As the unicorn vanished, the maze dimmed once more, returning to silence.

But then, a series of rapid, trembling breaths reached Hoffa's ears from somewhere in the distance.

"Haa… haa… haa…"

A human voice. A woman's voice.

Following the sound, he found a tall girl in a white dress leaning against the corner of the jungle labyrinth, clutching her chest as she gasped for breath.

Her appearance immediately reminded Hoffa of Aglaia from the past. However, her eyes were green instead, her eyebrows sharper, and her lips thinner. Her overall figure was also much more slender.

Hoffa knew exactly who she was—Fleur Delacour, the champion from Beauxbatons, another beautiful girl with Veela heritage.

"Are you alright?" Hoffa approached her, noting how she looked as if she were struggling with something. He reached out to support her, but the moment his hand touched her arm, he realized her skin was burning hot.

"I'm fine. I'm fine."

She yanked her arm away abruptly, not even bothering to see who had touched her.

"I'm fine… I'm fine."

She forced herself to stand, pressing a hand against her chest and walking forward with her legs tightly clenched together in an odd posture.

Hoffa couldn't help but follow her. "Excuse me, have you seen Harry Potter or Cedric Diggory?"

"I… I haven't," Fleur replied absentmindedly, gripping the dark hedges of the maze as she moved forward, still panting heavily, as if she had just run several kilometers.

Hoffa found her behavior increasingly strange. Unable to resist, he reignited his Lumos spell. The moment the light illuminated her face, he was startled.

Her sweat-drenched hair clung to her forehead, her cheeks flushed red—even her neck was burning hot. She gripped a vine beside her tightly, refusing to let go for even a second.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

Hoffa quickly grabbed her arm. "What happened?"

Being held back, Fleur finally stopped. Her unfocused gaze settled on Hoffa's face for a second before she looked away, leaning against the vines and hedges.

"Tell me… have you seen a white horse?" she asked in a dazed voice. "A really beautiful… beautiful white horse…"

Her flushed face and stammering tone made it seem like she was struggling to contain something.

A horse?

Hoffa frowned. "Do you mean a horse or a unicorn?"

"Something like that… it was white… and had a… a big horn…"

Fleur gestured with her hands, her face turning even redder.

Hoffa immediately thought of the unicorn he had just seen.

Instinctively, he pointed. "That way."

The moment he did, he regretted it. A strong sense of déjà vu told him that this would lead to some kind of terrible consequence—but what exactly, he couldn't recall.

His memory was gone, leaving only vague remnants from six thousand cycles. The harder he tried to remember, the more elusive it became. He clutched his head in frustration.

"Alright, alright… thank you…"

Fleur's expression turned dreamy as she staggered in the direction Hoffa had indicated.

Halfway there, she suddenly turned back and pointed in the opposite direction of the maze, speaking carelessly, "Oh… right… if you're looking for Harry Potter, head northwest. I saw them earlier… I think…"

With that, she continued gasping for breath and stumbled deeper into the maze, her steps increasingly unsteady.

The overwhelming déjà vu finally faded from Hoffa's mind. When he looked up again, Fleur had already disappeared.

But her words lingered.

"Northwest."

Turning in that direction, he prepared to search for Harry Potter.

At that moment, a streak of fire cut through the pitch-black sky, followed by a piercing whistling sound.

Hoffa turned just in time to see a middle-aged man drop from the sky, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him backward with tremendous force.

They tore through the ground, leaving a deep groove in the dirt as they crashed through hedge after hedge.

(End of Chapter)

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