Harry Potter: I am the Legend

"Alright, alright, let's not fight!" Delphina interjected, her tone soothing. "This must all be a misunderstanding. Chloe, this is Hoffa Bach, the person I mentioned earlier. I was planning to have him escort you back to London."

"Him?"

The nun exclaimed incredulously. "Him? Absolutely not!"

At that moment, Norbert arrived on the scene.

Noticing Delphina standing in front of Hoffa, he removed his sunglasses, scowling. "You again, Baldy. Didn't you say you wouldn't follow us?"

"Apologies," Delphina drawled lazily. "This time, it's Mr. Bach who came to me."

Norbert glanced at the sobbing nun with her head bowed and felt a twinge of awkwardness. Leaning toward Hoffa, he whispered, "Hey, kid, what did you do to her?"

Hoffa shot him a glare.

Just then, the scar-faced nun raised her tear-streaked face. At the sight of her features, Norbert exclaimed, "She's that ugly?"

Delphina snickered. "Uglier than a giantess?"

"Shows what you know!" Norbert retorted with a spit.

To everyone's surprise, Norbert didn't explode with anger. Instead, he awkwardly suggested, "Whatever it is, let's all sit down and talk this out."

Delphina crossed her arms, looking at Hoffa with a teasing smile. "What do you say?"

Hoffa, now oddly calm, nodded. It was broad daylight; he didn't believe the nun could vanish into thin air with him watching.

"Fine. We'll sit down and talk."

Thus, the four of them returned to the restaurant in Hoffa's temporary hotel.

Seated at a table, Hoffa and Norbert sat on one side, facing Delphina and the scar-faced nun, Chloe, on the other.

Throughout the entire exchange, Hoffa kept his gaze fixed on the nun, refusing to let his guard down even for a moment.

The nun, meanwhile, sat with her arms crossed, her face full of indignation and grievance. She refused to look at Hoffa.

Breaking the tense silence, Delphina clapped her hands and smiled. "This is Chloe Leme, the person I wanted you to help escort to London. She's a descendant—many generations removed—of the famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel."

Nicolas Flamel.

The name echoed in Hoffa's mind. A legendary figure and one of the world's most renowned alchemists.

Realizing this scar-faced nun had such an extraordinary lineage, Hoffa's dismissive attitude softened slightly, though his confusion deepened.

Nicolas Flamel had been capable of creating the Philosopher's Stone, a source of immortality and immense power. Why would someone with such a remarkable heritage need to steal his magical gloves?

Norbert, upon hearing the Flamel name, brightened and adopted a friendlier demeanor. "Well, looks like my luck isn't so bad, running into a direct descendant of a top-tier alchemist. So, where are you two headed?"

"Tomorrow, once the port reopens, I'll take Chloe back to England by sea," Delphina replied.

"And you're sure you can get past the Wizarding Association's inspections?" Norbert asked skeptically. "Every ship crossing the sea must stop at at least three islands, each with strict inspections.

"If even one person identifies you as a British wizard, the Germans will throw you into a dungeon. And even if you make it across the sea, Britain's shores are nearly consumed by dark magic. That's now the darkest place in the world."

"I know. I just came from there."

Delphina sighed heavily. "Corpses everywhere, monsters roaming freely. Compared to that, Paris is heaven. Honestly, I don't have much confidence in crossing the heavily guarded Anglo-French border with someone else in tow."

Lowering her voice, she leaned closer. "Listen, if you help me get her to London, I can petition the Ministry of Magic to lift the bounties on your heads. And we can join forces to face our common enemy."

"That's impossible." Norbert shrugged. "Though I respect Mr. Flamel greatly—his alchemical knowledge has helped me a lot—I'm sorry. We have our own matters to attend to."

"Where are you headed?" Delphina pressed.

"Africa. I won't share the exact location," Norbert replied curtly.

(Norbert and Delphina were chattering away about all sorts of trivial matters, but Hoffa barely paid attention to their conversation. His focus remained entirely on the scar-faced nun across from him.)

Delphina: "Ahem. No offense, but your idea of manufacturing weapons to sell to those rebel groups is good. However, with just the two of you, you're too small a force.

We can provide you with raw materials, facilities, and other kinds of support, as long as you help us out a little on our journey back."

"This..."

Norbert hesitated, glancing at Hoffa.

Hoffa shook his head.

After much internal conflict, Norbert looked at Chloe and finally said:

"We can't provide direct help, but we have a friend named Frank. He's been smuggling across the English Channel for years.

If you can find him and offer something enticing enough, I'm sure he can help you get her back to England."

Delphina's spirits lifted: "Where can I find him?"

Norbert stood up. "Follow me. I'll get you a token to show him. Just hand it over and tell him Hoffa and Norbert sent you, and he'll help."

Delphina beamed. "That would be a huge help."

Standing up, she adjusted her robes and addressed Hoffa:

"Mr. Bach."

Hoffa, who had been sitting silently with his arms crossed, gave her an icy glance.

Delphina: "I'm going with Mr. Hagrid to retrieve the token. Could I trouble you to look after Miss Flamel here? Just for a moment."

"No!"

Chloe, who had been silent until now, shouted, her eyes on Hoffa. "I'm coming with you!"

Hoffa smirked coldly.

Delphina quickly patted Chloe's head. "Be good. Whatever misunderstanding there is, now isn't the time to argue. Trust me, while Mr. Bach can be a bit strange, he's absolutely reliable."

"I..."

Delphina interrupted, "Now, be a good girl."

With visible reluctance, the scar-faced nun sat back down, glaring in frustration.

Hoffa sneered. "I wonder where your baseless trust in me comes from."

Delphina flashed him a broad smile, made a gesture of request, and then followed Norbert out of the room.

Left alone at the table, only Hoffa and the scar-faced nun, Chloe, remained. The atmosphere was tense and far from pleasant.

Chloe fidgeted restlessly, grabbing a magazine and flipping through it hastily before tossing it aside. Then she picked up another magazine, flipping its pages noisily.

Hoffa stirred his coffee, his mind occupied with strategies to recover his magical gloves. If she refused to speak, it seemed he had no way to deal with her.

"Are you a wizard?" he asked, trying to soften his tone.

The scar-faced nun peeked out from behind the magazine, glaring at him.

"None of your business!"

"I'm from Hogwarts. Which school did you attend?"

The nun's angry expression softened slightly.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Which house?"

"Ravenclaw," Hoffa replied.

"The Ravenclaws I've met aren't as rude and vulgar as you."

Without hesitation, the nun retorted, "They're polite and intelligent gentlemen, while you're no better than the worst of Slytherin."

Hoffa thought to himself, And you have the nerve to wear a nun's habit? How blind must God be to let someone like you serve Him?Suppressing his irritation and the fact that his gloves were still missing, he forced a fake smile. "And you? Beauxbatons?"

"No. I didn't attend a magical school. I don't even have a wand."

"Muggle? Squib?" Hoffa asked skeptically.

"No. I'm a witch," Chloe replied calmly.

"I just can't control my magic, so I couldn't attend school."

"Oh, that's really unfortunate," Hoffa said insincerely. "Magical school life is actually quite fascinating."

The nun retorted sharply:

"If it's so fascinating, why aren't you at school? It's already September 1st, yet you're wandering around France. Oh, wait, you're off to Africa!"

She burst into mocking laughter. "Did Hogwarts open a branch in Africa now?"

Hoffa decided it was better to keep his mouth shut. If this conversation went on any longer, he feared he'd die of frustration before recovering his gloves.

He turned his head to look out the window. Outside, rows of soldiers marched in unison, and heavy tanks rumbled down the streets as if preparing for a grand parade. A few Gestapo agents in black suits peeked out from behind newspapers, their presence adding a tense and oppressive atmosphere to the street.

In the distance, a group of black-robed wizards leapt off a tank, brazenly grabbing random Muggles on the street. Without hesitation, they began injecting magical restoration potions into the Muggles' necks.

Hoffa mechanically turned his head back, his expression unreadable.

Chloe, however, was still chattering away on the opposite side of the table. "I told you, I didn't steal anything! If your stuff is missing, why don't you report it to the authorities instead of hounding me? It's not like you have anything worth—"

She was mid-rant, full of disdain, when a waitress in an apron approached from a distance. She carried a coffee pot and wore a professional smile.

"Would you like some coffee?" the waitress asked.

"Uh..." Chloe paused her tirade. "Sure, with extra milk and sugar."

"Of course."

The waitress bent down to pour the coffee.

Hoffa's eyes narrowed as he noticed a subtle bulge on the waitress's belt. Though it was faint, he detected a faint magical energy radiating from it.

A wand?

Why would a waitress in a restaurant have a wand?

As this thought crossed his mind, the waitress's hand moved inconspicuously toward Chloe's cup. A serpentine field of mental energy began to hiss and coil.

In the blink of an eye, the coffee pot in the waitress's hand transformed into a sharp syringe aimed directly at Chloe's neck.

Hoffa's instincts screamed danger. He lunged across the table toward Chloe.

In a split second, he shoved Chloe's head down, and the table shattered under the force. With a powerful kick, Hoffa struck the waitress square in the chest.

She flew backward, slamming into the restaurant's bulletin board, which broke into pieces. The other diners screamed and scattered in panic.

But the waitress stood up as if nothing had happened, cracking her twisted neck back into place with a sharp snap.

Meanwhile, countless armed soldiers poured in from outside, their imposing presence filling the restaurant. Leading them was none other than SS Colonel Müller Mans, the same man who had raided Hoffa's home the previous night.

The waitress drew her wand and swept aside an obstructing table with one hand. "Magic detected! It's her!"

Müller Mans turned his predatory gaze toward the corner, locking onto Hoffa and Chloe. With a wave of his arm, a dozen soldiers charged toward them, rifles raised.

There was no time for Hoffa to process what was happening. He pushed away the broken wooden planks pinning him down and crawled toward Chloe.

He found her half-lying on the floor with a syringe embedded in her neck. The blue magical restoration potion inside was rapidly depleting, and Chloe was trembling uncontrollably.

Hoffa yanked the syringe out and supported Chloe, holding her half upright.

"Hey! Are you okay?"

"Move... quickly..." Chloe struggled to utter.

"Damn it!"

As the soldiers drew closer, Hoffa grabbed Chloe by the arm, hoisted her up, and entered his Disillusionment State without hesitation, vanishing into thin air.

The front entrance was blocked by the chaotic crowd, leaving Hoffa with no choice but to head toward the back of the hotel, dragging Chloe along.

Bursting into the hotel kitchen, Hoffa slammed the iron door shut behind them. Almost immediately, the door began to rattle with countless dents appearing as the soldiers outside unleashed a barrage of bullets.

Hoffa took two steps back, clasping his hands together in preparation to use his Shatter Grip spell to seal the door with stone and block the soldiers from breaking through.

But before he could begin, an overwhelming sensation of suffocation clouded his mind. His legs wobbled, nearly causing him to collapse. The room was thick with chaotic, surging magic that transformed the air into a heavy, suffocating substance, like thick butter, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Turning to look, he saw Chloe lying on the floor. Her face was flushed, veins bulging on her forehead, and her body twisted and rigid like a dying fish.

"Hey, hey! What's happening to you?"

There was no response. Her slender fingers clawed desperately at her cheeks, and the veins on her arms were vividly visible, pulsating with an astonishing amount of magical energy.

"Oh, God…"

Hoffa groaned.

He had no idea what was happening to her, but his gut told him it couldn't be anything good.

Bang!

Bang!!

The door shook violently as the soldiers outside tried to force their way in.

Hoffa pressed his palm to the ground. From the floor, countless stone hands twisted and interlocked, securing themselves against the iron door and keeping the soldiers at bay.

After several loud crashes proved futile, the soldiers outside ceased their assault. But Hoffa knew they wouldn't give up so easily.

His senses told him the building was completely surrounded. It wasn't just soldiers—there were wizards among them as well.

The sudden silence was unsettling.

Knock, knock, knock!

A polite rapping on the door broke the quiet.

Hoffa pressed himself against the wall beside the door.

A hoarse and low voice spoke from outside.

"Mr. Bach, I know you're listening, aren't you?"

Hoffa didn't respond, his heart sinking. He'd been recognized after all.

The man outside continued in a persuasive tone, "I am SS Colonel Müller Mans. The woman with you is an anomalous human under our custody. She's extremely, extremely dangerous. If you come out now, no harm will come to you. In fact, you'll be rewarded."

Anomalous…

Hoffa thought back to the photos this officer had shown him two nights ago. Glancing over at Chloe, who was convulsing in the corner, she looked nothing like the pale-eyed woman from the pictures.

Approaching Chloe, Hoffa knelt down and reached for her chin. With a gentle tug, he peeled at her face.

To his shock, the scars on her face turned out to be part of a disguise, crafted with a concealment charm. The intense movement from earlier had caused much of the mask on one side of her face to peel away, revealing the truth beneath.

(To be continued)

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