Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky, heralding the arrival of the winter of 1940.

On Christmas Eve, Hoffa stood before the mirror in the communal bathroom, his head lowered.

Transparent, glistening slime oozed across the marble floor, seeping out from under the cabinets and slowly, ever so slowly, crawling along the tiles.

When he looked up again, the reflection staring back at him had high cheekbones, pale bluish skin, and dark circles under the eyes—deeper than they had ever been. He looked like a tortured ascetic or a demon struggling within the confines of purgatory.

The reflection in the mirror curved its lips into a faint smile, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Horns began to sprout, inch by inch, from its forehead.

Startled, Hoffa shook his head vigorously, and the vision vanished.

His reflection returned to normal—thin, shirtless, a tired and disheveled gray-haired teenager preparing for a bath.

"Damn it," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

For nearly four months, he hadn't seen Dumbledore or received any guidance. Night after night, strange and unsettling nightmares plagued him. Occasionally, he experienced hallucinations—both visual and auditory.

In the past, he could meditate to dispel the oddities within his mind, but now, he couldn't even grasp what was wrong with his body.

He felt as though he was losing his sanity.

Bang!

A sharp noise rang out from the next room.

William, also shirtless, poked his head in with a grin. "Come on, bath time!"

It was the last day of the term, and students—exhausted from months of school life—flocked to the communal baths. Hoffa and his roommates were no exception. Months of potion-making had left them all with a lingering, peculiar odor.

Antonio emerged timidly from the other side, holding out a white towel toward Hoffa.

Hoffa closed his locker, silently taking the towel and nodding in acknowledgment.

Antonio hesitated before asking, "Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep again last night."

"What did I say?"

"I… I couldn't hear clearly," Antonio stammered.

"Did I disturb your sleep?" Hoffa asked as he tied the towel around his waist while walking.

"No… not really," Antonio replied awkwardly.

"Hey, what are you two talking about?" William called from down the corridor, waving. "Hurry up!"

Hoffa said no more, heading straight for the baths. As he passed through the marble hallway, he felt as though something was watching him. Looking up, he saw it.

A peculiar black-and-white cat sat perched atop the statue of the wizard Manicos. Its face was half black and half white, resembling a yin-yang symbol. The cat stared at him intently, as though trying to communicate.

Who let their pet wander into the baths? Hoffa wondered.

The boys' bathhouse was an expansive space, shrouded in steam and filled with rising heat.

The water was hot to the touch. Many boys sat on the marble edges, cautiously dipping only their legs into the water. When they saw Hoffa approach, they greeted him enthusiastically.

"Yo, Bach!"

"Sit over here!"

"Join us!"

Hoffa smiled politely but declined their invitations, stepping directly into the pool until the hot water reached his neck.

Since his Halloween duel with Sherlock, he had become a figure of admiration among the students, someone they idolized. Wherever he went, a crowd followed.

Countless girls wrote him letters expressing their affection, while boys scrambled to join his "circle."

But all this attention brought Hoffa no pride or joy—only the pain of losing his freedom. No matter where he went or what he did, eyes were always on him.

Did he truly defeat Sherlock?

Hoffa knew he hadn't. It was Fatir who had vanquished Sherlock. But no matter how often he said so, the other students refused to believe it. They clung to their version of events.

On the other side of the pool, William was greeting everyone cheerfully.

In stark contrast to Hoffa, William reveled in the attention. He eagerly expanded his social circle, proudly declaring himself Hoffa's closest friend. Over time, he built an extensive network of acquaintances and cemented his role as its de facto leader. Regular gatherings, meals, baths, and secret activities became his methods for fostering cohesion among the group.

"Yesterday, the president of the Gryffindor Transfiguration Club said hi to me," William said, his tone smug. "They invited us to join their club."

"Who'd want to go?" a Hufflepuff boy lounging by the pool drawled lazily.

"Their club doesn't even have any girls. You couldn't drag me there with a mule," he added dismissively.

William sneered. "As if they'd invite you."

"Well, even if they did, I wouldn't go," the boy retorted with an eye roll. "By the way, our house recently started a Herbology club. Want to join us?"

"Are there lots of pretty girls?" William asked slyly, raising an eyebrow.

"There are plenty—half the third-year and older girls have joined," the boy said.

"Really?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"Hoffa, are you coming?" William called out loudly, splashing water at Hoffa to get his attention.

Hoffa remained motionless, soaking in the hot water as droplets slid down his head. In a muffled voice, he replied, "Why not?"

He had no idea how this social circle had formed. It was far removed from his comfort zone. Out of politeness, he habitually gave a positive response, but deep down, he had no intention of going.

William laughed, sliding into the water. Turning to the Hufflepuff student, he said, "You're in luck! It's rare for Hoffa to show interest in joining any club activities."

"What does Hoffa usually do?" two boys asked curiously.

"Same old stuff—the library," William answered, letting out a satisfied sigh as he submerged his body fully into the bath. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, by the way, I heard the prefects' bath is way better than this one."

Taylor asked, "Aren't all the prefects off training dragons? Would anyone even be using it?"

Antonio chimed in, "Probably not."

"Prefects?" William sneered dismissively. "Just losers we beat."

"What a waste if no one's using it," Antonio mused aloud.

"I'd love to check it out. I've heard it's way more luxurious than what us regular students get," someone else said.

"Pfft. When Hoffa becomes a prefect in fifth year, we can go there whenever we want," William declared confidently.

The other students in the bath all nodded in agreement.

"Definitely—he's a shoo-in."

"Fifth year for sure."

"Bet he'll go straight into working for the Minister of Magic after graduation."

Hoffa, however, felt that if Hogwarts continued as it always had, his life might unfold exactly as they predicted.

Become a prefect in fifth year, graduate, and join the Ministry of Magic. Start as an assistant to some high-ranking official, climb the ladder to become the head of a department after a few years, have a bunch of kids, and spend his days worrying about making ends meet.

But where did this inexplicable fear come from? What was the source of this invisible pressure?

He didn't know. Submerging half his head into the hot water, he tried to use the warmth to ground himself, to sweat out the stress and tension.

But he felt nothing. Not a drop of sweat rolled down his head. It was as if he were trapped in a sealed concrete cage.

Over the past month, his mind had grown increasingly sensitive, while his body became increasingly dull. He could hardly taste, feel, or even sense heat anymore.

As the others continued their lively discussion, William rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"If you ask me, Hoffa should already be a prefect. He was a teaching assistant last year and beat Sherlock this year. If he were a prefect now, we could already be enjoying the prefects' bath."

William's fascination with the prefects' bath was apparent.

"Give it up," a Hufflepuff boy said lazily. "Even if Hoffa becomes a prefect, it's not like you would. What makes you think you'd get to use it?"

The others stifled their laughter, and William immediately shot back, "Do you even know what being a roommate means? Hmm? Hoffa, am I right?"

He turned to Hoffa, hoping for validation. But as he scanned the steam-filled surface of the water, the gray-haired head was nowhere to be seen.

Puzzled, William muttered, "Where did he go?"

"Isn't it a rule that only fifth-years can become prefects?" another Gryffindor student said, bringing William back to the conversation.

"And you call yourself a Gryffindor?" William leaned back against the marble, smirking. "Isn't breaking rules Gryffindor's favorite pastime?"

The bathers erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the steamy chamber and filling the air with a carefree joy.

The Gryffindor student, feeling insulted, flushed red and challenged, "You Ravenclaws pride yourselves on being so clever—why don't you dare go into the prefects' bath right now?"

William sneered, "Fine, I'll go. Will you come with me tonight?"

"Hey, aren't you afraid of getting caught?" Antonio asked nervously.

"Who's going to catch us?" William scoffed. "Half the professors are spending their days at the Ministry of Magic anyway."

"You said it. What if you chicken out tonight?"

"Oh, you want to bet?"

"Bet? Fine."

"How much?"

"Twenty Galleons."

William's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Twenty Galleons? That's hardly worth it."

"Then how much do you want?"

"I want you to invite every Gryffindor girl out to hang with us."

The group erupted in cheers, excitement soaring at William's audacious suggestion.

The Gryffindor student retorted indignantly, "What about you? Ravenclaw has plenty of girls too!"

In a distant corner of the pool, faint ripples spread outward, unnoticed by anyone. Amid the lively chatter, Hoffa had already left the bathhouse.

Having achieved the goal of cleaning himself, staying any longer felt like a waste of time. He had no interest in indulging in the youthful exuberance of a group of thirteen-year-olds.

Whether wizard or Muggle, boys of this age were inevitably overwhelmed by their hormones, brimming with boundless energy.

Last year, he might have stayed, blending in and sharing a few laughs. But this year, the immense pressure of survival had drained him of all energy.

After drying off and changing into his school robes, Hoffa headed to the library.

The library was cold and quiet, nearly deserted. This year, students seemed to have lost all interest in self-directed learning.

Turning a corner, Hoffa caught the sound of a faint moan. He walked over and found a senior student pressing a girl against a bookshelf, engaged in some ambiguous activity.

Noticing his presence, the pair hastily adjusted their clothing. The boy was about to lash out when he recognized Hoffa. His anger quickly morphed into an awkward grin.

Hoffa's facial muscles moved automatically, offering a habitual smile.

Relieved, the pair hurried past him with lowered heads.

As he watched them leave, Hoffa's smile vanished without a trace. He rubbed his facial muscles, feeling as though he were wearing a thick, uncomfortable mask.

This wasn't the Hogwarts he had imagined. In his mind, the school was a place for exchanging ideas, where everyone was unique, possessing fascinating souls, and understanding one another with open hearts.

Now, however, Hogwarts felt like a graveyard—a lively graveyard. Everyone had become the same, lacking individuality, ambition, or purpose, living aimlessly in decadence.

Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, Hoffa pulled a book on spiritual magic from the shelves. He began flipping through it, hoping to find a solution to his own mental struggles.

But most of these hefty tomes focused on manipulating others' minds, with little to no insight into introspection or self-healing.

Frustrated, he skimmed through one book after another.

Time passed quickly as he searched.

By late night, Hoffa glanced at his watch. It was already 11 PM. Resting his head against the bookshelf, he closed his eyes in frustration.

Another fruitless day. When would he finally resolve his issues? When could he live happily?

No one had the answers for him.

Leaving the empty library, Hoffa walked through the deserted magical staircases and returned to his dormitory.

William's bed was empty, as were the others. Without giving it much thought, Hoffa undressed and prepared to sleep.

Just as he lay down, the dormitory door burst open with a loud crash, and a group of boys stumbled noisily into the room.

"Hoffa! Hoffa! Hoffa!"

Antonio shouted his name breathlessly, his words tumbling out like a runaway train.

Annoyed, Hoffa turned over and sat up. "What now?"

In the dim light, Antonio's pale, freckled face glistened with sweat. He spoke nervously, "William is missing."

(End of Chapter)

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