Harry Potter: I am the Legend

The explosion lasted nearly half a minute.

But for Hoffa, at the very heart of it, it felt like ten years.

Finally, the red light began to fade, and the explosion subsided.

As the glow dimmed, he floated mid-air. His body was devoid of any color, and the scene before his eyes was desolate.

The outskirts of Hogwarts had turned into scorched earth. Flames licked the ground but emitted no light, their glow entirely consumed by a grim black wind that rendered them faint and ghostly in the air.

Staring blankly at the moon in the sky, his face was bloodless, his heartbeat faint. His ears had been left temporarily deafened.

He had lost his state of vitality and the ability to transform his body. His hair had turned gray, the same shade as Sylvie's. His legs and arms were exposed through the torn fabric of his robes, and his body was riddled with holes. He had reverted entirely to an ordinary wizard.

Letting out a weak breath, he tilted his head downward and began to fall slowly from the sky, the speed increasing with every second.

Seeing his frail figure plummeting, Ossivia, despite her injured leg, darted forward with lightning speed.

Her movement was like a fuse igniting an explosive charge; every teacher and student rushed toward the falling shadow.

In the final moment before he hit the ground, Ossivia caught Hoffa, twisting her body to absorb the impact. She held him tightly, as though afraid that letting go would cause him to vanish.

Hoffa had lost all his strength. Endless emptiness swept through his mind, trying to crush him. The searing pain in every inch of his torn body left him unable to stand. His brain, now barely functioning, perceived only vague, white static dots dancing before his eyes.

Was this it?

Would he collapse?

Would he sink into unconsciousness?

Would everything go blank?

But after a few twitches, he forcibly interrupted his weakness. Drawing on sheer will, he stood upright, leaning on his spirit, because this was not the time to give in.

The situation had escalated to this point, and he had a rough understanding of Sylvie's plan. That man never did anything without purpose.

Struggling, Hoffa pushed Ossivia aside and rose, his voice trembling but resolute, "Don't worry about me… the Hogwarts Orb… Where is it?"

Ossivia jolted and immediately sprang up, searching frantically.

But no matter how hard she looked, it was nowhere to be found. She even cast a Summoning Charm, but to no avail.

Leaning against the wall, Hoffa groped around, desperately trying to find the orb that had once granted him magic. Yet, after a long search, it remained unseen.

Then, a faint chuckle pierced through the silence, throwing him into despair.

"Hey, brother, what are you looking for?"

His heart sank. When he looked up, he saw Sylvie lying amidst the residual flames of the explosion. Though the details were blurry, Hoffa could make out the figure.

The explosion had severely injured Sylvie. He was a horrifying sight, his entire body battered and broken. His upper body had only one mechanical arm left, and his face was burned so badly that only a single eye remained.

The top of his skull was exposed, with no hair to cover it, revealing the pink of his brain.

Yet despite his gruesome state, he still clung to a piece of stone on the ground with his single hand, dragging his mangled body forward, chuckling darkly as he crawled.

"Life… is inherently conflict," he rasped, his tone mocking. "Without conflict, more and more people will live numb, meaningless lives—useless trash, sheep, parrots mimicking others without thought."

His arm strained as he pulled himself further from the flames, inching closer to Hoffa.

"You think protecting them will make them grateful? Will it change them? No. They'll take it all for granted, running away, succumbing to instinct, continuing their apathetic existence under your wing. And the moment you make a mistake, they'll devour you whole."

Watching the man crawl slowly along the ground, Hoffa gripped the wall and stood, panting heavily. "Y-You… spout all this nonsense, thinking it justifies your madness?"

"Hmm… does it matter?" Sylvie sneered, dragging his broken body. "Justification or not, the goal is the goal. It's not about right or wrong, just success or failure."

Ossivia stepped in front of Hoffa, raising her wand toward the crawling Sylvie. "You've lost. Everyone will be here soon."

Sylvie glanced at her and smirked, revealing a mouth devoid of teeth. "Then kill me. They're coming—you won't have another chance. Isn't this what you wanted? Revenge? I can't resist now. Go ahead, kill me."

Ossivia's wand trembled.

Sylvie taunted as he crawled, "Do it. Kill me. What are you waiting for?"

Struggling, Ossivia retorted, "I… I won't. You don't get to escape this. I'll hand you over to the Wizengamot. Everyone will see your crimes. You won't manipulate anger and hatred to control me anymore."

"Hmm. So, you fancy yourself the protector of this school now?"

Sylvie withdrew his gaze, looking at Hoffa with renewed interest. He dragged himself closer, grinning. "My, my, brother… Have you tamed this raging beast into a docile pet? Fascinating. Tell me, how did you do it?"

"Enough!" Ossivia barked.

"It's true," Sylvie muttered. "Enough, indeed." He stopped crawling, propping up his upper body with his remaining arm. "Witness this moment."

With those words, he halted five meters away. Suddenly, his chest opened, revealing black mechanical ribs. With his single hand, Sylvie pulled out the Hogwarts Orb from within his body.

He had hidden it inside himself all along.

Yet the orb in his hand was dim, lifeless—a frail, aged bulb on the verge of collapse.

Fixing his gaze on Hoffa, Sylvie's voice dripped with malice, "It's all as I planned. The Founders' magic is spent. As you can see, I've won."

Hoffa and Ossivia lunged toward him simultaneously.

Sylvie smiled faintly. With a final effort, his blackened hand crushed the Hogwarts Orb into dust. The dim fragments of the orb fell through the air, lifeless.

At the exact moment he shattered the orb, Dumbledore and the other heads of house arrived on the scene, raising their wands in unison.

A blinding golden light, as thick as Hoffa's waist, flashed through the air. It vaporized the upper half of Sylvie's body in an instant.

With a bang, a single black mechanical arm fell to the ground. It sparked briefly with purple light before fading completely, becoming a lifeless hunk of metal—the last remnant of Sylvie.

Ossivia stared at Dumbledore in shock, but he didn't look at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the sky.

Silence swept through the chaos. The only sound remaining was the relentless howl of the black wind. The night pressed heavily, suffocating, as if even the air itself struggled to stay.

Was it over?

Hoffa turned to see the teachers and Aurors gathered behind him. Their faces bore solemn expressions.

Dumbledore's wand was steady, his auburn beard trembling slightly. His piercing blue eyes scanned the surroundings with intensity.

The Minister of Magic and the Aurors accompanying him also raised their wands, moving cautiously across the scorched ground.

The silence lasted ten seconds. Then, Hoffa felt his mental field compress to its absolute limit.

A cold chuckle echoed across the ruins, like a chilling wind sweeping through the desolate expanse. The laughter lingered for a long moment before fading completely, leaving the area in an eerie silence once more.

Everyone exchanged uncertain glances, while Hoffa's body shivered involuntarily, his strength utterly drained.

Suddenly, a whirlwind of black mist surged through the air, spiraling upwards as the faint chuckle turned into unabashed, manic laughter.

"Ha... ha... ha... HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Freedom!"

"Freedom!!"

"FREEDOM!!!"

"I... AM BACK!!!!"

The voice carried an unmistakable joy, a sense of liberation, yet tinged with a peculiar bitterness. Amid this unfathomable laughter, the swirling black mist coalesced, descending rapidly to the ground, where it violently condensed into a humanoid form.

At first, the figure was vague, a shadow amidst the mist. But gradually, it took on clarity: an elegant, perfectly proportioned body standing at a height of nearly six feet. His sleek, gray hair was impeccably styled, his sharp features striking, and his pale skin radiated an unnatural, almost infantile softness.

Standing naked before the stunned crowd of Hogwarts staff and students, he spread his arms wide, laughing with wild abandon—unrestrained and utterly mad.

The next second, Dumbledore and the Aurors unleashed a barrage of golden beams from their wands, all aimed at his chest. Yet, unlike before, the attacks failed to harm him.

"Too weak," the man muttered with a trace of disdain.

Casually raising a single finger, he conjured a concentrated shield of magical energy at his fingertip. The shield absorbed the golden blasts effortlessly, and with a flick, as if discarding a nuisance, he reflected the attacks back.

Several Aurors were caught off guard, their own magic piercing through them. They were sent flying and collapsed lifelessly on the ground. The Minister of Magic, pale with terror, cowered in a corner.

Dumbledore swung his wand, stirring clouds of debris to obscure the group behind him.

The man tilted his head, his smile cold, as he raised his hand into a claw shape aimed directly at Dumbledore.

A massive, green, spectral scythe appeared behind Dumbledore and slashed downward with devastating force.

Dumbledore's eyes widened as his pupils shrank to pinpoints. Defensive spells and barriers materialized rapidly behind him, but the spectral blade sliced through them as if they were nothing. Gritting his teeth, Dumbledore split his body into two—an illusion remained to absorb the attack, while his true form rolled to the ground, narrowly escaping the deadly strike.

Breathing heavily, Dumbledore glared at the man, his wand raised in guarded defiance.

But the figure, having unleashed his strike, lost interest in Dumbledore. He stood still, gazing at the towering silhouette of Hogwarts against the night sky. His expression twisted from triumph into one of raw, agonizing pain.

"One thousand years," he muttered bitterly. "Cursed for a thousand years... How dare you..."

He opened his mouth and spat out Hoffa's wand before waving a hand.

A colossal fire dragon erupted from the wand, streaking toward the Astronomy Tower in the distance. The explosion shattered the structure in an instant, sending debris raining down as the towering spire crumbled.

The crowd erupted into panicked screams.

The man leaped high into the air, his magic surging wildly as he hovered over the ruins of Hogwarts. His face contorted with anguish, nearly grotesque in its intensity.

"Hiding in the shadows, refusing to confront your own power—so capable yet so afraid of responsibility!"

He roared as he ascended higher.

"Resounding Inferno!"

With his cry, a searing wave of sound struck the castle. Tower after tower crumbled as though struck by an unrelenting hurricane of flame. The air burned hot enough to singe hair and skin, leaving those caught in it gasping for breath.

Bricks flew, walls collapsed, and even the school's resident ghosts fled in utter terror.

Despite the devastation, the man's expression only grew more pained.

"A thousand years ago, it was like this. A thousand years later, nothing has changed. It's all the same! Disappointment... unbearable disappointment!"

He clutched his head, screaming into the heavens.

"This is not the school I wanted. Not the place I dreamed of!"

"You fools! Clinging to the faded glory of the past, hiding, doing nothing!"

He spread his arms wide, his voice thundering:

"Requiem of the Damned!"

Black and crimson spirits poured from his body like a tidal wave, galloping outward in all directions. Buildings collapsed into heaps of rubble, and the land became barren, utterly lifeless. His power was unrelenting.

"Treacherous... conservative... shortsighted!"

He ascended even higher, his presence warping the magical energy in the air to a fever pitch.

"Liquid Fire!"

His entire body ignited, transforming into a blazing meteor that plummeted to the ground.

BOOM!

The impact was cataclysmic. Shockwaves rippled outward, carving deep cracks in the earth for hundreds of meters. Rivers of molten rock crisscrossed the land, while half of Hogwarts crumbled into ruin.

From the smoldering crater, the man emerged, walking over the molten earth like a drunken figure, his expression twisted in pain.

"This... this is not the school I envisioned... not the reality I wished for..."

The overwhelming magical pressure brought everyone to their knees. Dumbledore, the professors, and the Aurors scrambled to their feet, once more standing defiantly before him.

"Four mediocre wizards raising sheep—do you think you can stop me?"

With a wave of his hand, he declared:

"Bloody Requiem!"

The ground beneath their feet morphed into a giant blood-red eye—a vast, ancient sacrificial array.

The array spread rapidly.

Caught within its radius, the students collapsed one by one, mouths agape, their faces pale with indescribable agony.

Hoffa didn't understand the nature of this monstrous spell, but he knew it was no mere magic.

From a distance, Osivia clung to Hoffa, her voice trembling:

"Let's go. Please, let's just leave!"

Hoffa remained silent, his eyes locked on Sylby, who wreaked havoc with wild abandon. His body felt numb, but his thoughts grew colder and sharper.

Calm. Stay calm.

Now wasn't the time to fall. Sylby was at his peak, consumed by frenzied ecstasy.

Hoffa glanced at his magical watch.

His magical energy was completely exhausted. The awe-inspiring shield spell from earlier had drained the combined power of the Four Founders and consumed every last shred of his own strength.

Now, without magic, without a wand, he had nothing left.

Was this the end?

Perhaps it was.

Perhaps it had to be.

But he refused to give up.

Pushing Osivia aside, Hoffa struggled to his feet. He couldn't fall now. The events of this semester flashed through his mind like a rushing stream.

Hoffa closed his eyes, his thoughts racing.

There had to be a way.

There had to be a way!

How could he be so powerful? How did the Four Founders defeat him?

Wait.

A faint possibility suddenly emerged in his mind.

Hoffa's eyes flew open. "No, there's still a chance!"

From the depths of his soul, a hidden strength surged forth, enabling his utterly depleted body to stand once again.

His muscles trembled, and every cell in his body screamed in agony, but he refused to give in.

Taking a deep breath, he suppressed all the pain, his gaze as unyielding as iron.

Limits existed to be broken.

Hoffa shoved aside everyone around him and plunged into the cluster of Slytherin students. After searching through the group, he quickly found the dark-haired boy—a tall, handsome youth.

At that moment, the boy's face was pale as paper, his vacant eyes fixated on the terrifying, rampaging man. His body trembled uncontrollably.

Hoffa slapped a hand onto Riddle's shoulder. "Hey, can you still move?"

Riddle, staring at the devastated remains of the school, murmured as if half out of his mind, "What kind of magic is this? What kind of magic...?"

Slap!

Hoffa struck Riddle across the face, snapping him out of his stupor.

"You hit me?"

"Can you still move?"

Riddle nodded, his expression almost wooden.

"Curse him!" Hoffa commanded, pointing at the destructive Sylby.

Tom Riddle remained dazed.

Slap!

Gripping Riddle's tattered collar, Hoffa shook him. "Is this school your home or not? If you want to save it, curse him!"

"Curse him!"

Riddle finally came to his senses, grabbing Hoffa by his torn and ragged collar. "Are you out of your mind?"

He pointed at the man. "Look at his defenses! Look at his psychic field! Any magic that comes within ten meters of him collapses and loses connection with the caster! How am I supposed to curse him?"

Hoffa turned to look and saw that Riddle was right. Sylby's psychic field was overwhelming, compressing everyone else's to their limits.

The colorful spells fired by the professors and Aurors disintegrated before they could even reach him.

Within Sylby's sphere of influence, any magic was severed from its caster, rendering it uncontrollable.

With Riddle's current level of psychic strength, any curse would likely be detected and disrupted before it got close. Directly cursing Sylby was impossible.

Meanwhile, more and more students were collapsing under the massive blood-eye ritual array spreading across the ground.

Hoffa closed his eyes, his mind racing at lightning speed. Then, he suddenly opened them and looked at Riddle.

"Curse me!"

(End of Chapter)

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