Harry Potter: I am the Legend

After leaving the hotel, the two of them got into a black taxi, heading toward the city center. The streets of London at night were shrouded in thick fog, heavy with moisture. Pedestrians hurried along with their heads down, umbrellas in hand, their dark silhouettes resembling ghosts.

Sitting inside the car, Hoffa gazed out the window. The fog was so dense that he couldn't make out the direction they were heading, nor did he know their destination. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he turned to the girl beside him and asked, "Where exactly are we going?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she sat there with her arms crossed, one leg casually draped over the other, eyes closed as if resting.

"Aren't you headed to London's largest hospital?"

The driver, smoking a cigarette, responded helpfully, "We're almost there."

A hospital?

Just hearing that word was enough to trigger Hoffa's PTSD. A hospital again? He had just escaped from one. Sitting upright, he anxiously asked, "What kind of hospital? It's not another mental institution, is it?"

"Pfft."

The girl, still resting with her arms crossed, let out a soft chuckle.

The driver, however, sounded surprised. "Huh? Weren't you going to the wartime hospital? How did it turn into a mental asylum? Do you want me to change the route?"

Hoffa let out a small sigh of relief, his tense body relaxing slightly.

"No, no. Just take us to the wartime hospital," he said.

A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of a large city park. Hoffa and the girl got out, finding themselves amidst the fog-shrouded park, where low, pointed shapes loomed like shadows. Surrounding them were bustling pedestrians and soldiers in uniform.

Unlike the soldiers who had once hunted him, these were battered and broken men—unfortunate souls missing limbs. The lucky ones had bandages wrapped around their foreheads or arms and leaned on crutches. The unlucky ones lay motionless on stretchers, hurriedly carried into the dense clusters of tents.

The air was thick with the sharp scent of alcohol and medicine. Everywhere, wounded soldiers huddled around burning barrels, drinking and chatting in low voices. Their faces bore exhaustion and despair, as if alcohol was the only thing keeping the agony of war at bay.

"So, this is the wartime hospital."

The girl stuffed her hands into her pockets, surveying the sprawling tent city before them. "All of England's wounded soldiers are treated here. The war may be over for now, but they're still sending people back from the front lines. Many soldiers die here. Many more receive treatment. Blood types need to be matched, organs transplanted… This is London's largest collection of human organs."

She spoke in a detached tone, as if discussing a market.

A collection of human organs.

Hoffa shuddered. That was a rather unsettling way to put it.

"What exactly are we doing here?" he asked.

The girl thought for a moment before replying, "The Heartstone. Look, I don't know what it is, but it sounds like a stone inside a heart. And this place? It's full of hearts, isn't it?"

"What? Stones don't grow in hearts. Kidney stones, sure, but heart stones?" Hoffa frowned.

"You're right. I've never heard of it either. But the world is full of strange things. If you want to find magic, you have to believe that a heart can grow a stone. Think about it—if it were common, it wouldn't be linked to magic, would it? Have you ever heard of kidney stones being magical?"

Hoffa had no response. He still wasn't convinced this idea had any merit.

But the girl seemed genuinely excited. She looked at him and grinned.

"Let's go find the Heartstone!"

With that, she strode into the maze of tents, quickly vanishing from Hoffa's sight.

"Well… we're already here."

Hoffa muttered to himself before following her into the seemingly endless encampment.

Unlike the highly secure hospital where he had been held before, this medical zone was chaotic. There were simply too many injured soldiers, and the flood of visiting relatives only made the place even more hectic. The whole area felt like a massive public gathering, filled with a never-ending clamor.

Hoffa carefully maneuvered through the crowd, dodging masked nurses with irritable expressions and stepping over discarded liquor bottles and medicine vials littering the ground.

The girl who had brought him here had already disappeared without waiting for him. Hoffa had been chasing after her for some time but still hadn't caught a glimpse of her. Doubts began creeping into his mind—he didn't even know her name, yet he had been blindly following her all over the place. Could she really be trusted?

As he ventured deeper, medical personnel became more numerous. His out-of-place outfit made him stand out among them. As he passed, several nurses cast him curious glances, as if wondering what he was doing here.

Those looks made Hoffa uneasy. He had no desire to go through another hospital escape. His instincts told him to stay close to someone familiar, but the girl had long since vanished.

Just then, a nurse stopped in front of him. Thinking fast, Hoffa ducked into a nearby tent.

Inside, a wounded soldier lay motionless, his entire body wrapped in bandages. Dark brown stains covered the fabric, and the air was thick with the smell of blood. This man was clearly in critical condition.

Sensing someone enter, the injured soldier slowly turned his head toward Hoffa. But his eyes were wrapped in bandages—his face completely covered except for his mouth and one ear.

The sight of him made Hoffa feel an inexplicable heaviness. He hesitated, unable to leave.

At that moment, the tent's entrance suddenly flipped open. A nurse carrying a medical kit strode in and immediately demanded, "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I… I'm here to visit someone," Hoffa stammered.

"You're a relative?" the nurse asked suspiciously.

Hoffa glanced at the wounded man on the bed, who was wrapped from head to toe in bandages, and remained silent.

But the nurse took his silence as confirmation. With a scolding tone, she snapped, "What kind of family shows up only now? Didn't you get our notice? If you'd come any later, you might not have made it in time. He's barely hanging on with morphine!"

Without waiting for his response, she shoved Hoffa closer to the bed. Then, raising her voice, she called out, "Robert! Your family is here! Can you hear me?"

The man on the bed shifted slightly, tilting his head. But his eyes—likely destroyed in battle—remained wrapped in gauze. With his entire face hidden, only a single ear and his mouth were exposed. He was completely blind.

"What's your name?" the nurse asked.

"Hoffa."

The nurse took out a crumpled list and scanned through it.

"Your name isn't on the list of relatives."

She put the list away and pointed at Hoffa's chest with a wary expression. "I'm warning you, don't try to impersonate someone you're not, or I'll have you sent to the security team!"

"His family sent me here," Hoffa murmured, glancing at the soldier lying on the hospital bed.

"No way! Only family members are allowed to visit!"

The nurse seemed firm in her principles and began pushing Hoffa toward the door. "Leave now! Don't cause trouble!"

But before she could force him out, the soldier on the bed suddenly convulsed violently. His body shook with intensity, causing the metal IV stand and medicine bottles beside him to clatter noisily.

Seeing this, the nurse immediately released Hoffa and rushed to the soldier's side, pressing him down in an attempt to calm him. But the soldier's convulsions only worsened—his wounds reopened, blood seeping through the bandages, staining them red.

"Oh no!"

The nurse stomped her foot in frustration. While holding down the soldier, she turned to Hoffa and ordered loudly, "Don't just stand there! Go get the medical kit!"

Hoffa spun around and spotted a silver case. He quickly picked it up and opened it in front of the nurse.

She swiftly pulled out a syringe, expertly injecting it into the soldier's wrist. As the clear liquid entered his bloodstream, his violent tremors gradually subsided.

Hoffa watched the nurse's actions with a sense of unease. Even though he had lost his memory, he could still sense the ominous power contained within that injection. Such power was not something an ordinary person could endure.

The soldier finally stopped shaking. He leaned back against the bed, exhaled slowly, and said, "Let him stay. He's my brother."

"Huh?" The nurse looked surprised. "But his name isn't on the list of family members. Are you sure he's your brother?"

"A distant cousin," the soldier replied softly. "My parents are too old, and my wife has to take care of our son. You can't expect them to come all the way here, especially with me in this... condition."

Hoffa slightly parted his lips in surprise.

The nurse no longer made things difficult for him. Instead, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, "That injection was a high dose. Prepare yourself—this might be your brother's final moments."

Hoffa nodded solemnly.

As the tent flap fell back into place, the atmosphere inside changed drastically. Though the sounds from outside were still present, they felt distant, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them—Hoffa and the soldier before him.

"I'm sorry," the soldier said suddenly. "I lied to the nurse. I don't actually have a brother."

Hoffa felt a pang of guilt. Lowering his head, he admitted, "I should be the one apologizing. I wasn't sent here by your family."

"That doesn't matter. But… can you do me a favor?" The soldier looked at him hopefully.

Hoffa scratched his head. "I'll try, as long as it's reasonable."

"Great!"

The soldier suddenly looked energized, a smile even forming beneath the bandages covering his face.

He straightened up and said, "My hometown is in the small town of Moulton, in Yorkshire, by the banks of the Dewart River. There's a little farm there. My wife and my ten-year-old son live there. When I left home, he was only three years old. It's been seven years now… If he's still safe, he should be ten by now."

Hoffa sat in a chair, listening attentively.

The soldier continued, "I can't move my hands anymore. Could you take out the pocket watch from my chest?"

Hoffa stepped closer, carefully lifting the torn fabric of the soldier's uniform. As expected, nestled against the bloodstained bandages on his chest was an old but finely crafted golden pocket watch.

"Take it off for me. I won't be needing it anymore," the soldier said.

Hoffa followed his request, removing the watch.

"Open it," the soldier urged.

Hoffa flipped the watch open. Inside, beyond the moving clock hands, was a small, delicate photograph embedded in the cover, surrounded by shimmering enamel filigree. It had clearly been well cared for.

"What do you see?" the soldier asked.

Hoffa was silent for a moment before replying with some difficulty, "A blonde woman holding a bucket… and a little boy, standing in front of a windmill."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The soldier's voice carried an expectant tone.

Hoffa looked at the photo, feeling a strange ache in his chest.

"Yes," he murmured. "Very beautiful."

The soldier spoke earnestly. "This pocket watch was passed down to me by my father, and it should rightfully go to my son. Can you take it to Moulton, in Yorkshire? My wife will surely reward you handsomely."

Hoffa didn't understand why this soldier—who couldn't even see him—would entrust such an important task to a complete stranger. Yet, after a brief hesitation, he responded, "Alright. I promise to deliver it."

Upon hearing this, the soldier's entire body seemed to relax, as if all the strength had drained from him in an instant. He slumped onto the worn-out cot, exhaling a cloud of white breath. His voice, now weak and hollow, carried a trace of relief.

"Thank you… stranger. You're a good man."

Hoffa clutched the pocket watch tightly, confusion welling up inside him. "Why did you ask me to do this?" he asked. "You don't even know me."

The soldier's voice was barely a whisper. "You… have the same scent… as my son. Faint, but it's there… Take care of…"

His words grew softer and softer. Hoffa had to press his ear close just to catch them. Even so, the voice eventually flickered like a dying candle—until it faded into nothing.

(End of Chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09