Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The soldiers inside the tanks had likely received a kill order. The moment they spotted Aberforth and his group, they opened fire without hesitation.

Shells flew across the battlefield, flames roared, and the air became scorching hot, almost suffocating.

Hoffa instinctively dropped to the ground, remaining motionless. The wizards beside him also seemed accustomed to such battles. They swiftly ducked down and pulled out crystal bottles from their belts, hurling them at the approaching tanks.

Whatever substance was inside those bottles, the moment they shattered on the ground, a dozen charging soldiers were instantly frozen in place. Even a moving tank was immobilized. But this did little to slow the enemy's advance. More tanks rumbled forward, crushing the frozen soldiers into pieces, their cannons roaring relentlessly.

In no time, their hiding spot was reduced to rubble. Branches and chunks of earth rained down on Hoffa's face, making it nearly impossible for him to keep his eyes open.

Lying beside him, Aberforth shouted, "Quick, take him to the giants' camp! I'll handle this!"

"Yes, sir!" a male wizard responded loudly. He then grabbed Hoffa, pulling him to his feet. The two stumbled as they made their way toward the exit of Hogsmeade.

Hoffa, being led away, kept looking back at Aberforth amidst the raging flames. "Will they be alright?" he asked.

"They will, senior!" the wizard assured him. "Mr. Aberforth has already repelled the Squib soldiers a dozen times. Among the wizards still standing, he's one of the few with the best magical reserves."

The best magical reserves?

What exactly had happened?

Hoffa was filled with confusion.

"Senior! This way!"

A speeding motorcycle roared past them. The wizard pulled Hoffa into Hogsmeade's drainage channel, where they crouched and moved forward.

Once they were temporarily out of danger, Hoffa asked, "What's your name?"

"My name is Kree, senior."

"Kree, just call me Hoffa. You don't have to keep calling me 'senior.' This isn't Hogwarts," Hoffa said.

"Yes, Hoffa senior," Kree replied.

Hoffa felt a headache coming on. He didn't want to argue with this enthusiastic Gryffindor anymore. If Kree wanted to call him that, so be it.

Following an abandoned drainage canal, they emerged into the open wilderness. Just as they thought they could catch their breath, floodlights illuminated the distance—more Squib soldiers were on the way.

Kree grabbed Hoffa and ran as fast as he could, trying to shake off the encroaching enemy. But with flares lighting up the sky and bullets whizzing past their feet, it became clear—they had been spotted.

"Hoffa senior, hold on! We're almost there!"

Motorcycles and tanks roared behind them. As bullets rained down, Kree shouted encouragement to Hoffa.

Hoffa pressed forward, gritting his teeth. He had been injured too many times before—this level of pain was nothing he couldn't endure. But something felt off. Hadn't the war already ended? This felt even more dangerous than his time in the German-occupied territories years ago.

Up ahead, deep trenches cut across the land—likely dug by wizards to stop tanks from advancing. Kree pulled Hoffa into one of the trenches. Both leaned against the walls, panting heavily.

"No more running?" Hoffa asked, catching his breath.

"Hoffa senior, look! The giants!"

Kree pointed ahead. "We've made it."

Hoffa focused his gaze—and sure enough, near a pile of massive boulders, three towering giants sat around a fire, roasting what appeared to be an entire cow.

Hoffa had never dealt with giants before, but he had heard they were violent by nature. He turned to Kree and asked, "Are they on our side? Can we trust them?"

"Sort of," Kree replied hesitantly. "Their relationship with Aberforth isn't exactly friendly—mostly because they keep stealing his goats. But they made a pact with him: in times of crisis, they must protect the wizards. I'm not sure if they actually understand the agreement, but if tanks and motorcycles enter their territory, they'll definitely be furious. Giants are the kings of the land, after all—one giant is as strong as three trolls!"

Kree spoke with conviction, his excitement evident.

Sure enough, as soon as the rumbling of engines reached them, the three giants rose to their feet. They wore only crude animal-hide loincloths, their unkempt hair wild and tangled. One even had an exceptionally long beard. Each of them stood about eight or nine meters tall, wielding enormous bone clubs that made them look utterly terrifying.

In the darkness, the sheer size of the giants made the Squib soldiers hesitate. The motorcycles and tanks came to a sudden stop. But the giants, angered by the intrusion, didn't wait for a response. Two of them picked up massive granite boulders, each the size of a small car, and hurled them toward the enemy.

The first rock crashed down, flipping a tank onto its side, sending thick smoke billowing into the night. More boulders followed, smashing into the motorcycle troops, scattering them in all directions.

"See? I told you they'd help!" Kree exclaimed, clenching his fists in excitement. His whole body seemed to be burning with adrenaline.

Watching Kree's enthusiasm, Hoffa couldn't help but feel skeptical. Based on his past experiences, the moment he started feeling hopeful, reality had a way of throwing a cold bucket of water over him.

And sure enough, before he could say a word, the distant sky filled with the deafening roar of helicopter blades.

Looking up, Hoffa's heart sank—several planes had appeared overhead. Though old-fashioned in design, they were still deadly. The aircraft dived down, and within moments, their mounted machine guns lit up the night with streaks of yellow tracer fire.

Hoffa quickly pulled Kree into a hastily dug trench.

As the planes strafed the battlefield, the giants—still swinging their massive clubs—were caught in the gunfire. Blood sprayed into the air as they roared in pain.

Hoffa watched the scene unfold, his hope draining away.

"But… no one told me they'd bring planes too…" Kree murmured, his face pale.

Wounded and enraged, one of the giants hurled its club toward the sky, but the planes quickly ascended, dodging the attack. One aircraft even turned back, aiming straight for the giant's face, unleashing another barrage of bullets directly into its eyes.

With a pained howl, the giant clutched its bleeding face.

Meanwhile, the tanks had realigned their formation.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

A series of artillery shells exploded against the giants.

One of them collapsed with a thunderous crash, its body riddled with wounds—there was no way it would survive.

Hiding in the trench, Hoffa and Kree could do nothing but watch, powerless.

Senior Hoffa, what should we do…?" Klee asked in a trembling voice.

How would I know what to do?

Hoffa sat in the trench, lost in thought. If these Squib soldiers could get their hands on tanks and planes, then the resources they controlled must have reached an astonishing level. But how could they have acquired such resources in just a few short years?

As planes streaked across the sky, Klee desperately raised his wand, casting spells frantically toward them. But the light emitted from his wand was so faint that it was nearly imperceptible to the naked eye.

After poking the air helplessly with his wand a few times, Klee slumped against the rocks and said dejectedly, "At this rate, in a few months, I'll probably become a Squib too."

"What happened to your magic?" Hoffa asked.

"I don't know. Ever since a year ago, my magic has been getting weaker and weaker, and my wand has become less effective. Even basic spells barely work. And it's not just me—other wizards are experiencing the same thing," Klee said, tears welling up in his eyes. He sobbed, "If this keeps up, I'll have to go to war with a gun like a Muggle…"

"What's the cause?" Hoffa asked.

"No one knows. Magic is fading—some faster than others."

Suddenly, Klee seemed to remember something. He forced himself to perk up and looked at Hoffa with hopeful eyes. "I heard that Mr. Bach can transform into a Thunderbird. If you can turn into a Thunderbird and take me into the sky, maybe I can take down the Muggle pilots."

"If I could turn into a Thunderbird, would I even need your help?"

Hoffa's eyes were dull and lifeless.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Another round of shelling shook the ground as if it would tear the earth apart. Hoffa watched as giants twisted and screamed in agony under the relentless bombardment, dying one by one.

"Senior Hoffa, if you don't do something, we're really going to die here."

Klee's voice trembled with unease.

"I know!"

Hoffa gritted his teeth and struggled to stand. He wanted to transform into a Thunderbird or use Transfiguration or Time Magic. But at this moment, he was utterly weak—just standing up took all his effort, let alone casting high-level magic. At most, he could slightly alter the shape of his arm, but anything beyond that was impossible.

BOOM!

Another shell landed nearby, forcing Hoffa, who had just managed to stand, to shrink back down.

He could feel his own spirit withering. A year ago, two years ago, even three years ago, he wouldn't have paid any mind to such things. But after a single nightmare, he had become like a startled bird, trembling at every threat. Unlike the ruthless cycles of Death, the God of Nightmares had stripped away his power in a slow, gentle, and imperceptible manner.

"Senior Hoffa, you're much weaker than I expected."

Klee's voice carried deep sorrow.

"Is that so? Then don't expect anything from others in the future."

Hoffa replied blankly, "Especially not from me."

"Then what do we do now?" Klee asked.

"Wait for death."

Hoffa spoke with numb indifference.

"Wait for death?!"

Klee was shocked. "No way! Dying like this would be completely meaningless!"

Hoffa heard the sound of dense footsteps approaching outside the trench. Without a word, he flipped over and pressed Klee down beneath him. Klee was startled by Hoffa's sudden movement and stammered, "S-Senior…?"

"Close your eyes," Hoffa ordered. "Don't make a sound."

As the bombardment ceased, waves of soldiers rapidly advanced across the plains. They leaped over stone walls and the corpses of giants, conducting a thorough search of the burning camp. Soon, they reached the trench where Hoffa and Klee were hiding.

"Sir, there's someone here!"

A soldier pointed at the trench.

"Dead or alive?"

"Not moving. Looks dead."

"Shoot just to be sure. Don't take any chances."

Someone spoke up, "They're wizards. We can't be careless."

A soldier raised his gun and began firing into the trench.

Bullets rained down mercilessly on Hoffa, like a torrential downpour.

Nowhere left to run, Hoffa thought. This is it…

Grindelwald and Sylby hadn't managed to kill him, yet now he was about to die anonymously at the hands of a few nameless soldiers. If he somehow survived this, he swore he would return to fifty years in the future, no matter what.

As if in response to his silent plea, a golden light descended from the sky, striking the ground and rippling outward like waves. The soldiers who had been firing were thrown into the air by the spreading golden energy.

Amidst the flashing light, a figure furiously wielded a wand, unleashing immense magical power. The sheer force of it swept through the battlefield, sending the Squib soldiers and their heavy weaponry flying.

But Hoffa saw none of this. He remained face-down, waiting for death.

It wasn't until someone grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over that he finally opened his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he saw a familiar, slightly crooked nose and a pair of piercing blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles.

A genuine smile spread across his face.

"Professor."

Klee, who had been pinned beneath Hoffa, shoved him aside, leaped up, and grabbed the old man, crying out in relief.

"Professor Dumbledore!! You're finally here! Please, save him!!"

Albus Dumbledore immediately recognized the young man before him. He bent down in shock, supporting Hoffa.

"Hoffa, what are you doing here?!"

"No time for questions, Professor!! He's dying!!"

Klee was frantic, hopping in place.

Dumbledore grasped Hoffa's and Klee's arms. The space around them twisted rapidly, and in an instant, the three of them vanished from the plains of Scotland.

(End of Chapter)

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