Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Hoffa fell silent. He had always known that wizards in this world could tamper with the rules of time. In the original narrative, Harry Potter, fifty years later, used a Time-Turner in his third year to save his godfather, Sirius Black.

However, reading about time distortion and experiencing it firsthand were entirely different. The time Hoffa had gone back surpassed Harry's by far—two whole days without the aid of a Time-Turner.

He wanted to ask more questions, but a light bump on his shoulder interrupted him. Turning to look, he saw Chloe leaning her head on his shoulder before suddenly retching.

The abruptness of it made Hoffa feel sick. He quickly stepped aside.

"What are you doing!?"

"I... can't see," Chloe murmured weakly before collapsing to the ground, her lips pale.

"Hey! Hey!" Hoffa shouted, ignoring the puzzled looks of passersby. He hurriedly helped her up, only to realize she could barely stand.

Touching her forehead, Hoffa frowned deeply. This was bad—she seemed to be suffering from extreme exhaustion, akin to severe hypoglycemia.

Seeing her pale profile and recalling her silver-white eyes from earlier, Hoffa shivered. Just who was this limp, feeble person beside him, possessing such terrifying powers?

Although his mind was flooded with countless questions, he knew the first priority was to help her recover. Resolving himself, Hoffa draped her arm over his shoulder, intending to take her to a nearby hospital.

But as he took his first step, a searing pain shot through his arm, as though someone had slashed it with a sharp knife.

Alarmed, he rolled up his sleeve.

On his wrist, a transparent spot the size of a fingertip had appeared. Through it, he could see his veins clearly, and even the telephone pole across the street. Touching it, the spot felt hard, as if the flesh and bone in that area had been replaced with glass.

"What the hell…" Hoffa muttered, a foreboding sense rising in his heart.

Lowering his sleeve, he picked Chloe up in his arms and ran toward the nearest hospital. But before he could go far, Chloe's faint voice sounded from his arms.

"Don't go to a hospital…"

"What do you mean, don't go to a hospital?"

"My mother… was Jewish. Just… get me some food," she murmured weakly.

Hoffa froze. In this era of widespread anti-Semitic persecution, taking her to a hospital would be like walking her into a lion's den.

He fell silent and quickly changed course, weaving through back alleys. Before long, he found a secluded café and carried Chloe inside.

The waitress stared in shock as Hoffa entered with a nearly unconscious girl in his arms.

Ignoring her reaction, Hoffa placed Chloe in a corner seat and headed straight to the counter.

"Two caramel cappuccinos," he ordered briskly.

The waitress hesitated, glancing toward Chloe, but eventually prepared the drinks, maintaining a semblance of professionalism.

When Hoffa returned with the drinks, Chloe was slumped in her chair, muttering incoherently.

She was too weak to respond, so Hoffa had no choice but to carefully hold the cup to her lips. Thankfully, she retained enough awareness to drink slowly.

After some time, her eyes fluttered open, and she whispered, "Thank you."

Hoffa sighed in relief and returned to his seat, his expression growing serious.

"Are you going to explain now?" he demanded.

"Explain what?" Chloe asked, her face still pale.

"Everything. How I ended up in this time period. For Merlin's sake, there are two of me in this timeline—what does that make me? Is any of this real or just an illusion? Who are you? Why are those wizards chasing you? And—"

"Can I eat first?" Chloe interrupted weakly, stopping Hoffa in his tracks.

Suppressing his frustration, he returned to the counter and ordered an assortment of food.

Three minutes later, the waitress brought over an array of sweets—iced fruit punch, coffee, fruit, cream cake, and chocolate sauce.

Chloe didn't immediately dig in. Instead, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, whispering a long prayer:

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Lead us not into temptation…"

Her words droned on, incomprehensible and seemingly endless.

After finishing her lengthy prayer, she finally began to eat. Though her pace was quick, her movements were graceful.

Hoffa watched silently, arms crossed.

When she noticed him staring, she asked, "Aren't you eating?"

"With everything going on, you can still eat. Your composure is remarkable," Hoffa replied dryly.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm starving. You'll get used to it."

Out of respect, Hoffa stifled his curiosity and waited for her to finish.

But just as he prepared to ask his questions, Chloe began another prayer.

"We thank you, Christ our God, for filling us with the blessings of this world. Do not forsake us outside your heavenly kingdom. As you appeared to your disciples and granted them peace, Savior, come among us and save us…"

She repeated the prayer three times, leaving Hoffa agitated beyond words. Only after finishing did she sit upright, looking slightly more composed.

Hoffa was silent. Indeed, he knew that the wizards of this world possessed the ability to tamper with the rules of time. In the original narrative, fifty years later, Harry Potter used a Time-Turner in his third year to save his godfather, Sirius Black.

But reading about time manipulation and experiencing it firsthand were two entirely different things. The time reversal he had undergone far exceeded Harry's. He had gone back a full two days without using a Time-Turner.

He wanted to ask more questions, but his shoulder was suddenly nudged. Turning his head, he saw Chloe leaning her head against his shoulder before vomiting bitter bile without warning.

The sudden act made Hoffa nauseous, and he quickly stepped aside.

"What are you doing!?"

"I... I can't see..." Chloe's lips turned pale as she collapsed onto the ground.

"Hey, hey!"

Ignoring the bewildered stares of passersby, Hoffa quickly pulled her up, but she seemed too weak to walk.

Touching her forehead, Hoffa's heart sank. She appeared to be severely drained, exhibiting symptoms akin to hypoglycemia.

Looking at her ashen face and recalling her silver-white eyes from earlier, Hoffa couldn't help but shudder. Who was this fragile yet astonishingly powerful person beside him?

Despite the flood of questions in his mind, he knew he needed to prioritize helping her recover before seeking answers.

Resolving himself, Hoffa slung Chloe's arm over his shoulder and prepared to take her to the nearest hospital.

Just as he took a step, a sharp, tearing pain shot through his arm, as if a utility knife had slashed him.

He quickly rolled up his sleeve.

To his horror, there was now a translucent spot on his wrist, about the size of a fingertip. Through the spot, he could clearly see the veins inside his arm, even the utility pole on the other side of the street. Touching it, the spot felt hard, as if the flesh and bone in that area had turned to glass.

"What is this?"

Staring at the translucent spot on his wrist, Hoffa felt an ominous foreboding.

He lowered his sleeve and carried Chloe in his arms, striding toward the nearest hospital.

After only a few steps, Chloe's weak voice emerged from his arms.

"Don't go... to the hospital."

"Why not?"

"My mother... was Jewish. Just get me some food, and I'll be fine."

Her voice was faint but firm.

Hoffa froze. In an era of widespread anti-Semitic persecution, taking her to a hospital was akin to pushing her into a lion's den.

He shut his mouth and changed direction, weaving through alleys. Soon, he found a small café tucked away in a side street. Carrying Chloe inside, he placed her in a corner seat and hurried to the counter.

The waitress, startled by the sight of Hoffa carrying an unconscious girl, froze.

"Two caramel cappuccinos, please," Hoffa ordered without giving her a chance to ask questions.

Though suspicious, the waitress maintained her professionalism and quickly prepared the drinks.

When Hoffa returned with the hot beverages, Chloe was slumped in her chair, muttering incoherently.

Hoffa tried speaking to her, but she couldn't hear him. With no other choice, he held the cup to her lips. Thankfully, she still had some awareness and could drink on her own.

After some time, her face regained a bit of color, and she weakly said, "Thank you."

Hoffa sighed in relief, sitting back in his seat. His expression grew serious. "Care to explain now?"

"Explain what?"

"Everything. How did I end up in this time? Why are there two of me in this timeline? Am I real or just an illusion? Who are you? Why are those dark wizards chasing you? And..."

Hoffa fired off questions rapidly, his words spilling out in a torrent.

"Can I eat first?" Chloe interrupted weakly, silencing him instantly.

He stood and returned to the counter, ordering every food item he could see.

Minutes later, the waitress brought over a variety of sweets: iced fruit drinks, coffee, fruit, cream cakes, and chocolate dipping sauce.

Chloe didn't immediately eat. She clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and began murmuring a prayer:

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."

Her prayer was long and incomprehensible, but when she finished, she began eating with surprising speed, though her movements remained refined.

Hoffa crossed his arms, watching her coldly.

When she had regained some strength, Chloe asked, "Aren't you going to eat?"

"You have the nerve to eat under these circumstances. Your heart must be made of steel," Hoffa replied, his tone biting.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm starving. You'll get used to it."

Forcing himself to suppress his curiosity, Hoffa waited until she finished. Just as he was about to resume questioning, Chloe began another prayer.

"We thank you, Christ our God, for feeding us with your blessings..."

The prayer dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Hoffa nearly pulled his hair out in frustration before she finally finished and sat upright.

"Done?" Hoffa asked.

Chloe nodded. "Thanks for the meal."

"Do you have a Time-Turner or something?"

"Time-Turner? Never heard of it. This is my natural talent. I've been able to do this since I was a child."

She smiled, as if recalling something amusing. "Want to hear a joke? When I was little, my mom once saw two of me in the room. It scared her to death."

Silence.

No matter how Hoffa tried to process it, everything sounded insane.

This world's concept of time and space was far less stable than he'd imagined. And this nun he had randomly met possessed an ability so incomprehensibly powerful that it was no wonder dark wizards were hunting her.

"So, there are only two of you in this timeline?"

"None of this concerns you. You should worry about yourself," Chloe said seriously. "You need to return to your rightful time."

"Or what?"

"Or you'll disintegrate in this unfamiliar timeline."

"Disintegrate?"

"Have you noticed any changes to your body?"

At her words, Hoffa's expression darkened. Rolling up his sleeve, he saw that the translucent spot on his arm had grown from the size of a bean to that of his palm.

Chloe pointed at his arm. "Time flare. You're a paradox in this timeline. The longer you stay here, the more your existence becomes illogical."

"What does that mean?"

"Time is like a speeding train. Everyone has a designated seat—some at the front, some in the middle, some at the back.

For ordinary people, those positions can't be changed. If you stay out of your seat for too long, the logic that sustains your existence will weaken. If it breaks past a certain threshold, you'll be crushed by the inertia of time's arrow, ceasing to exist entirely."

Hoffa didn't fully grasp her explanation. After a moment of thought, he rolled up Chloe's sleeve.

However, her arm was spotless, without a trace of translucency.

"Why are you unaffected?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's my natural ability. Every so often, my magic goes haywire, and I randomly jump along my own timeline. Once my magic stabilizes, I naturally return."

Hoffa was at a loss for words. After a long silence, he dryly asked, "So, if I stay here, I'll die, but you won't?"

"That's about right."

To his surprise, Chloe smiled. "See? I told you to keep your distance."

Despite her fatigued state, Chloe's smile was radiant.

But Hoffa was in no mood to appreciate it. Her words left him no room for doubt, and the expanding translucent spot on his arm was a constant reminder that his body was disintegrating in this chaotic timeline.

"What should I do?"

"Go back."

Chloe's reply was simple. "As long as you return to your proper time, the disintegration will stop."

"How do I go back?"

Hoffa was utterly confused. Despite his many adventures, he had no experience dealing with such a situation.

"Wait for my magic to recover. I'll take you back."

Chloe's tone was calm.

Hoffa breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly finding her much more agreeable. However, her next words plunged him into despair.

"But my magic only surges about once a month, and it takes at least a week to recover. At your current rate of disintegration, there's no way you'll last until I can take you back."

"What?"

Hoffa nearly spat out blood in frustration. "Once a month? What is this, a cycle?"

"A cycle of what?" Chloe asked, confused. "My aunt lives in Birmingham."

"Forget it. How long can my body hold out?"

"Two days at most," Chloe said with a sigh. "The disintegration is exponential. You might not even last a day and a half."

"Two days..."

Hoffa looked at his arm. "So, you're fine with leaving me to die?"

"You're quite the comedian," Chloe said, shaking her head. "I've never brought anyone along in my time jumps before. The priests at the convent always locked me in a room before my magic surged. You're the first person to fall into this time rift with me."

"How lucky for me," Hoffa retorted bitterly. "So, I have forty-eight hours before this thing consumes me?"

"Or less." Chloe shrugged.

(End of Chapter)

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