Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The voice was familiar. When Hoffa turned around, he was met with a pair of smiling brown eyes.

She was wearing black-rimmed glasses, a plain black shirt, tapered pants, and a pair of running shoes. In her hand, she carried a paper bag.

It was Miranda. They hadn't seen each other for two months, and she seemed to have grown a bit taller since his last impression of her. She no longer had that little sprout-like appearance from the previous year. Her once short, mushroom-like hair had grown into a short ponytail tied at the back of her head.

Seeing Hoffa turn around, Miranda generously gave him a hug, the paper bag thudding lightly against his back. The familiar scent of violets once again filled Hoffa's nose.

"Haha, it's been so long!" Miranda said with a bright smile.

"Yeah, it really has," Hoffa agreed, feeling a wave of nostalgia.

"You're one to talk," Miranda rolled her eyes. "You were impossible to find, not even an owl could track you down. I thought you'd gone to America!"

"Nope, I didn't go anywhere," Hoffa replied with a grin. "What are you shopping for?"

"Robes."

Miranda raised her arm and gave it a little shake. "Have you bought yours yet?"

"Not yet," Hoffa said as he glanced at his supply list. "I still need to get robes and a few potion ingredients. But I'll have to buy secondhand robes this year."

They strolled along the cobblestone road as they talked.

"Wow, that's rough. Did you go bankrupt or something?"

Miranda walked side-by-side with Hoffa, smiling mischievously. "I remember you being pretty well-off last year."

"Rootless water, rootless water..." Hoffa chuckled and changed the subject. "Hey, where's your grandfather? Didn't he come with you to shop this year?"

"Adbe?" Miranda shrugged, letting out a sigh. "He went to the Far East this year. Our Charms professor is getting replaced."

"The Far East?"

Hoffa's eyes widened in surprise. "Isn't that—"

"The Soviet Union, yeah. Didn't you hear about it?" Miranda looked at him, puzzled. "The Minister of Magic there got taken out with a Muggle weapon, or so they say."

"Yeah, I heard about it," Hoffa muttered, his tone thoughtful. Then, in a playful tone, he asked, "Was that your doing too?"

"Cut it out!" Miranda laughed and nudged Hoffa with her elbow. "Don't go pinning every bad thing on me."

Seeing an old friend lifted Hoffa's spirits. It was as if the dreary streets around them had suddenly become more lively.

Miranda was equally happy, and she kept asking him about his summer adventures. In return, she shared stories of the books she'd read and the places she'd visited during the holiday.

The two of them wandered around until dusk, buying everything they needed. Eventually, they found themselves at the alleyway entrance behind the Leaky Cauldron.

"See you on the train tomorrow?" Hoffa asked.

"Hey, Hoffa, you're kicking me out already?" Miranda asked with a pout as she hugged her stack of books. "We haven't seen each other in two months, and you're not even gonna treat me to a meal?"

"Do you really think that's possible?" Hoffa raised the shabby books in his hand, giving her a wry smile. "I can barely afford to eat myself."

"Haha, well, I guess that leaves me no choice but to treat you instead," Miranda said with a grin. She snapped her fingers and strode into the Leaky Cauldron. "Come on, follow me."

"Here? You want to eat here?"

As they entered the Leaky Cauldron, Hoffa glanced at the sullen old man behind the counter, Tom, whose face was so dark it looked like it could drip water. He instinctively didn't want to give Tom any business.

"No way," Miranda scoffed, glancing disdainfully at Tom. "It's dirty and messy in here. Any random Muggle restaurant is more professional than this place."

They walked through the Leaky Cauldron and onto the streets of London. Miranda glanced around with a worried expression.

"Looks like the Muggle world might be on the brink of war too," she said with concern. "Look at all the closed shops."

Hoffa looked around. The state of the Muggle streets wasn't much better than Diagon Alley. Some shops were closed, and others had signs indicating they were for lease or sale. He thought to himself that it was a wise move to close down now. If they waited a few more years, they might not even have the chance to leave alive.

As they chatted, they made their way to a small French restaurant. The two sat by the window and casually ordered some simple dishes. They ate while continuing their conversation.

After the meal, Hoffa excused himself to go to the restroom. Instead, he went to the front counter and paid the bill.

When Hoffa returned, Miranda was visibly displeased, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

Hoffa chuckled awkwardly, not wanting to dwell on the matter.

At that moment, he noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet sticking out of Miranda's book bag. He pulled it out and flipped through it. Most of the news centered on the brutal wizarding war that had broken out this month.

Large sections of the paper detailed the recent crimes committed by the Half-Blood Church. The commentators were in an uproar, with the entire front page devoted to tracking down the members of the Half-Blood Church and speculating on the identity of their so-called "Half-Blood King."

Some wizarding commentators directly accused Germany, pointing fingers at Grindelwald, claiming he was the leader behind these mysterious wizard assassins.

As Hoffa turned the page, he came across a familiar face.

Under a flood of flashing cameras, the handsome Grindelwald had made a public statement in the newspaper just the day before. He mocked the so-called Half-Blood King, calling him a pretentious clown, a mere show-off, and a rabid dog that would bite at anyone.

Looking at the wanted poster of the "Half-Blood King" with a crown on his head, Hoffa's fingers tightened around the newspaper.

Rip.

The newspaper was suddenly pulled down from his hands.

Sitting across from him, Miranda pointed to a simple Muggle hotel across the street. Her tone was calm as she said, "I'm staying over there. There's an extra bed in my room. Do you want to stay the night?"

Hoffa froze for a moment, then asked in surprise, "Is that okay?"

"Of course," Miranda nodded. "Looking at how filthy your clothes are, I doubt you spent the whole summer sleeping in a park wrapped in newspapers, right?"

"Even worse," Hoffa shrugged, his eyes still on the newspaper. "I stayed in the basement of the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ugh, Hogwarts really needs to improve its student welfare policy," Miranda said, propping her chin on her hand as she let out a small sigh.

Putting down the newspaper, a thought suddenly occurred to Hoffa.

"By the way, Miranda, did you receive any flyers during the summer?"

"Flyers? What flyers?"

Hoffa pointed to the bottom corner of the newspaper.

"The Half-Blood Church."

Miranda tilted her head to read the small recruitment ad in the newspaper. She frowned, thinking about it for a moment, then shook her head.

"I didn't, but I can't be sure."

"Huh?"

"Why so surprised? I wasn't fully conscious for about a quarter of the summer, especially when I was out traveling. Maybe Miller saw it. Do you want to ask him?"

Hoffa fell silent and shook his head.

He had no intention of meeting Miranda's other personality.

After gathering their things, they crossed the street to the Muggle hotel. Miranda's room was on the fourth floor. It was a standard, simple room but very clean. It had two beds, and it seemed Miranda hadn't been staying there for long.

Miranda didn't seem particularly conscious of typical "girl" behavior. Maybe it was because of her age, or maybe it was the influence of her other personality. Sometimes, she acted as carefree as a boy.

After showering, the two chatted briefly before Miranda dozed off on her bed.

Hoffa lay flat on the soft mattress, finding it a bit too soft for his liking. Outside, the wind began to blow. It made an eerie, whimpering sound, and a flimsy plastic awning outside rattled noisily. It didn't sound like a storm brewing, just an ordinary gust of wind. Yet somehow, it also resembled the distant sound of someone laughing.

Time ticked by, second after second.

September 1st.

Early morning.

Miranda lay sprawled across her four-poster bed, her limbs stretched in every direction. Her breathing was steady, with the occasional murmur of sleep talk.

Hoffa stared at his watch, the steady ticking filling the quiet room.

He counted down in his head, knowing that it wouldn't be long before Germany launched a blitzkrieg against Poland.

The most terrifying war in history would begin today.

Suddenly, vivid images of the blood-soaked corpses from Barcelona flooded his mind, making him anxious. He sprang up from the bed like a coiled spring, hugging his knees as he gazed out at the night-shrouded cityscape.

The world outside was silent and still. The sky was pitch black, with only the occasional cargo truck rumbling down the street below. The fleeting headlights cast Hoffa's shadow onto the ceiling, elongating it as it spun and twisted before vanishing into the darkness once more.

At that moment, Hoffa felt incredibly small.

The wheels of history rolled forward, oblivious to the will of individuals. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't see a way to change it.

He sat there for an unknown amount of time, slipping in and out of a blurry, dreamlike state.

It wasn't until Miranda started shaking him awake that he finally snapped out of it.

"You sat there all night?"

In the dim light, Miranda had already changed into a white dress. She stood in front of him, looking concerned. "Didn't sleep well?"

Rubbing his eyes, Hoffa glanced at his watch. It was 6:30 a.m.

For some reason, it was still dark outside. It looked like midnight, even though it should have been fully bright by 6:30 in September.

Miranda tossed him a shirt and said, "We need to head to King's Cross Station. It's pretty far from here."

"Thanks," Hoffa murmured, pulling the shirt over his head.

"This weather is so weird," Miranda remarked, yawning as she sat on the edge of the bed to put on her socks. "I wonder if we'll see that know-it-all at the station."

Once they packed their belongings, Hoffa helped Miranda carry one of her suitcases. They hurried out of the hotel and made their way to King's Cross Station.

At this time, London truly lived up to its name as the "Foggy City." By the time they took the subway to King's Cross, the sky had lightened a little, but a thick fog still blanketed the streets. The buildings and roads looked like distant mirages.

"Strange, I've never seen weather like this," Miranda remarked, tilting her head up to gaze at the fog.

"Are you about to transform?" Hoffa joked as he glanced up at the sky. He was referring to Miranda's ability to switch to her other personality.

Miranda shook her head solemnly. "No, but something's off. Miller's mental state feels restless."

"You can communicate with him now?"

"Sometimes, in special situations," Miranda muttered, lowering her head.

"Let's go."

The station was as chaotic as ever, crammed with people bustling about in every direction.

Suddenly, Miranda bumped Hoffa on the shoulder.

"Look."

Hoffa followed her gaze and saw two tall figures shrouded in fog. They appeared to be a man and a woman, both adult wizards.

They seemed to be escorting a child, as there was a small figure between them. The woman knelt down, speaking to the child, likely giving them some last-minute instructions.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Hoffa asked, confused.

Before Miranda could answer, the small figure turned away from the woman, broke free of her grip, and darted forward, vanishing into the fog.

A bad feeling gripped Hoffa.

"Ha!"

Out of nowhere, a fist shot out of the fog, growing larger in his view until it stopped just a millimeter from his face.

The fist slowly withdrew.

Standing before him was a silver-haired girl with eyes as blue and ethereal as a ghostly flame.

(End of Chapter)

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