Harry Potter: I am the Legend

In the dimly lit Room of Requirement, a man and a cat stared at each other across the distance.

This was the third time Hoffa had seen this peculiar cat. The first time had been in the bathroom, the second in the common room, and now, here it was again in the Room of Requirement.

He no longer considered it a coincidence. Standing still, he locked eyes with the cat. The cat tilted its head, gazing back at him.

Hoffa slowly crouched down. The black-and-white cat raised a paw. Hoffa extended his hand, and the cat placed its paw on his palm, rubbing its soft, furry head against his hand.

A faint warmth filled him.

This was a rational, independent, and elegant creature—currently the only being willing to approach him.

Yet, as he looked into the cat's hazel-brown eyes, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him.

"Miranda?"

He whispered the name softly, startling even himself. He was proficient in Transfiguration and knew very well whether the cat before him was truly a cat.

This wasn't Animagus magic. Animagi could alter their physical structure but not their essence. However, the essence of this cat was wholly feline.

Why, then, had he mistaken this cat for Miranda?

The cat withdrew its paw, leaped high into the air, and began to dart nimbly through the piles of discarded junk.

Without hesitation, Hoffa followed it. At every corner, the black-and-white cat would pause, waiting briefly for him to catch up.

Through the castle's labyrinth, a disheartened young man trailed behind a black-and-white cat. They passed through corridors made of broken furniture, climbed over heaps of dried potion bottles, and crossed a graveyard of rusted swords, axes, and spears.

At last, they reached a secluded spot, tucked between broken cabinets and a towering troll specimen.

The black-and-white cat glanced at him once more before slipping gracefully through a narrow gap, vanishing into the cabinets.

Hoffa followed closely, opening the cabinet door and ducking inside.

Though his heart was heavy with despair and weariness, the sight that greeted him on the other side left him utterly stunned.

A towering arched hall, over a hundred meters high, surrounded by mounds of miscellaneous trash, contained an open space roughly the size of a small courtyard.

On this open ground, a dense assortment of animals jostled against one another, producing a cacophony of strange cries.

Field mice, Tasmanian devils, cobras, parrots, horses, goats, golden monkeys—creatures of all kinds, over a hundred in number.

Some were logical presences; others were completely nonsensical. Tropical animals mingled with arctic ones, creating a scene that resembled a chaotic zoo relocation.

The black-and-white cat leaped twice and perched on Hoffa's shoulder, letting out a soft meow, almost like a sigh.

A field mouse spotted Hoffa and let out a terrified squeak. This sound acted like a remote control pressing the mute button; the entire hall fell silent.

All the animals turned their eyes toward Hoffa, their gazes filled with fear and apprehension.

The intensity of the scene made Hoffa momentarily forget to breathe.

What on earth was this place?

A sudden clattering sound echoed in the distance.

Startled, Hoffa ducked behind a Roman column with the black-and-white cat.

The door opened.

A wizard in a black robe entered, tall and commanding, accompanied by a group of house-elves. To Hoffa's shock, it was his Transfiguration teacher, Jacob Pohan.

The house-elves followed behind him, each carrying a wooden basket filled with various kinds of food.

The animals, upon seeing the house-elves, resumed their chattering and rushed forward to encircle them.

The house-elves began distributing food from their baskets, feeding the animals one by one. Jacob Pohan mingled among them, assisting in the feeding and occasionally stroking the animals' heads.

The surreal and bizarre sight made Hoffa's scalp tingle. He suddenly recalled his first meeting with Jacob Pohan and the man's room full of cats and dogs.

The cat on Hoffa's shoulder let out a low, suppressed growl.

He picked up the cat again, examining it closely—it was female. The cat resisted his attempts to check its gender.

This seemingly innocent act magnified Hoffa's unease. He thought of the missing students and his vanished roommates.

A wave of confusion swept over him, accompanied by a rising fury.

If this cat was Miranda and he was powerless to change her back—or worse, if Miranda had truly been transformed into a cat—

The realization made his arms tremble.

How could this happen?

It was tantamount to murder.

Shaking, he ran his fingers through the cat's fur, barely able to stand.

He didn't know what level of advanced Transfiguration could achieve such a feat, but the only possible culprit was undoubtedly Jacob Pohan—the man he barely knew.

Calm down.Calm down.

Hoffa took two deep breaths, though his arms, clutching the cat, wouldn't stop shaking. He kept telling himself this cat wasn't Miranda. Yet, his thoughts drifted back to Aglaea, transformed into a rabbit over the summer.

That time, I couldn't completely undo the transfiguration.

And this time...

Hoffa pinched himself hard to stop trembling.

He had to leave this place and tell someone what was happening here.

"Well, you're here."

As soon as he took a step, a calm voice nearby made Hoffa feel as if he had fallen into the depths of hell. He turned his head mechanically.

Jacob Pohan had somehow appeared right beside him, smiling as if greeting a neighbor he'd run into while feeding pigeons in the square—calm and composed.

What!?

The cat on Hoffa's shoulder arched its back abruptly, fur bristling, exactly like a startled cat would.

Hoffa stepped back, then another step, until his back hit the wall. Cold sweat dripped from his brow.

"What... what are all these?" he asked, voice trembling.

"Animals, of course. Do you like them?" Jacob replied with a gentle smile.

"Animals?"

Hoffa suppressed his panic. "There are so many students missing out there, and you're here feeding all these animals? Does Dumbledore know what you're doing?"

Jacob Pohan patted Hoffa on the shoulder and shook his head with a look of exasperation, as if dealing with a tiresome child. He sighed deeply.

"I know what you're thinking, but that's quite the accusation, Hoffa. I'm just taking care of them, that's all."

With that, he snapped his fingers.

The entire Room of Requirement seemed to come alive.

From the piles of trash, a broken table floated into the open space and landed softly on the floor. Chairs, cups, and a tablecloth followed, flying out from the mounds of junk.

The cups and tablecloth floated past the house-elves, who, alongside the animals, began wiping the grimy items with paper towels. They worked in perfect unison, their movements rhythmic and almost mesmerizing, like an assembly line devoid of individuality.

In no time, a long, meticulously cleaned dining table appeared before Hoffa and Jacob.

Jacob stepped back, pulled out a chair, and gestured for Hoffa to sit.

Hoffa had no idea what this man was planning, but he had no choice but to comply.

Once seated, the black-and-white cat jumped onto the table, sitting next to Hoffa, its unblinking gaze fixed on the wizard.

A group of house-elves quickly and obediently placed some food in front of Hoffa.

Jacob looked at him with mild concern. "Eat something. Look at you—you're skin and bones, almost as bad as Fatir."

Hoffa picked up a fork, trying to appear calm, but his trembling hand betrayed his unease.

"There's no need to be so nervous. I'm not going to eat you," Jacob said with a dismissive wave. "By the way, you once came to me, saying you wanted to learn wandless magic, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you come back? You haven't spoken to me during class either. Is it because of your conflict with Sherlock?"

Hoffa tried to stab a piece of bread with his fork, but his uncontrolled strength shattered the plate instead.

"What do these animals have to do with anything?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just making conversation." Jacob's eyes locked onto Hoffa's with unsettling intensity. "I'm quite curious about you. I heard you went to see Dumbledore last night?"

"How do you know that?"

"Of course, I know. But Dumbledore can't teach you wandless magic. He'll only use you when he needs you, isn't that right?"

Hoffa looked up as if struck by lightning. He saw the man leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching him with a teasing smile.

"He's not a good teacher, Hoffa. Albus Dumbledore may become a great leader, a lion among men... but he's certainly not an excellent teacher. A good teacher prioritizes the feelings of their students above all else."

The air grew still, and an indescribable tension began to build. Hoffa straightened his back, his body rigid like a statue.

The wizard in the black robe tapped his fingers on the table, his gaze sharp as a hawk's.

"Why didn't you come back to me afterward?"

Hoffa replied, "Because I didn't meet your expectations."

"Ha! Is that so?"

The man's expression shifted abruptly from dangerous to friendly.

"That's not true, actually. I never intended not to teach you. You met my expectations two years ago.

I just thought you needed a bit more tempering to truly be worthy of wandless magic. Back then, you relied too much on Dumbledore and this school. A Ravenclaw who depends on Gryffindor—how could such a person cast magic without a wand? I couldn't see a way."

He paused, interlacing his fingers.

"But now, I think you've been tempered enough."

"Is that so?" Hoffa muttered, twisting the iron fork in his hand until it snapped into three pieces. He glanced at the black-and-white cat on the table. "What have you done to my friends?"

"Can I finish my lesson, Hoffa?"

Jacob raised a finger, and the bent fork in Hoffa's hand instantly returned to its original shape with a loud snap.

"It's important to maintain at least some respect for your teacher."

Hoffa's face was deathly pale as he glared at the man, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Do you want to learn wandless magic?"

The man asked, his voice calm. "Do you want to truly be independent?"

"Yes," Hoffa replied, his voice squeezed out between clenched teeth.

"Good."

The man began to speak at length, completely unfazed by the murderous look in Hoffa's eyes.

"Wandless magic and magic with a wand are two entirely different systems. Magic with a wand is about channeling spells through the wand. I call it a rational process—syllables, gestures, rigid control.

It appears proactive but is actually a passive acceptance of the rules of magic. Like a clumsy boy chasing after an aloof girl, he might eventually win her heart with luck, but more often than not, he'll end up empty-handed despite years of effort.

Wandless magic, on the other hand, is something I prefer to call an emotional process. You approach magic, understand it, embrace it, and if possible, fall passionately in love with it.

When you attract magic to bloom for you, it's far more effective than any rigid, rational study. If magic chooses to be with you, to do anything for you, then there's no need for the meaningless process of control."

As he spoke, the mountains of trash around them began to flow like rivers. The centuries-old forbidden items seemed to come alive, moving and merging to form towering corridors that intertwined like a city of high-rises.

Hoffa watched the ancient garbage flying through the air—broken potion bottles, rusted swords, and battered items whirling around.

Jacob seemed like a magnet, drawing everything into a graceful dance around him, exuding an overwhelming mental force field.

Hoffa swallowed hard, finally understanding why Jacob was saying all this to him.

It was likely that in the entire school, only he could truly grasp Jacob's words. Because his own "Shattergrasp" ability also drew elements to reshape reality, altering the environment through sheer force of will.

As it turned out, wandless magic was just a thin veil away from him. He had unknowingly started learning it in his first year under another teacher.

And now, this mysterious teacher, whom he had never formally met, sat directly across from him.

"How did you achieve this?" Hoffa asked, his eyes shut tightly.

"Conviction."

The man raised a finger.

"Live in this world with the unwavering belief that you can change it entirely, and you'll find yourself wielding its power as easily as moving your arms."

Under the table, Hoffa's fists clenched tightly.

Finally, he opened his eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

(To be continued)

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