Harry Potter: I am the Legend

"She hasn't come out yet?"

Outside the door, a few girls whispered among themselves.

"No, it's been an entire day. She hasn't eaten or drunk anything."

"This won't do."

There was a polite knock at the door.

"Chloe, open up."

Inside, Chloe paced the room anxiously. Hearing the voices of the other nuns outside, she covered her ears. "It's all a lie. It's all a lie," she repeated.

Since returning to the convent 24 hours ago, she had secluded herself in her room, sitting still without moving an inch. Even the faintest sound startled her out of her wits.

Ever since seeing the grotesque creatures in her nightmares, she had been terrified of her own dreams. The Terraire Convent had been her second home in this world. Ever since she was sent here at the age of nine, she had never left.

She feared that if the people in the convent transformed into those monsters she had seen, her mind wouldn't be able to withstand the torment.

"Chloe, open the door. Sister Shanesa asked us to bring you your dinner," one of the nuns outside said.

"Just leave it at the door. I'm not feeling well," Chloe replied, leaning against the door.

"Are you alright? You've been acting strange since yesterday."

"I'm fine. Don't ask too many questions."

"Alright..." The nun outside hesitated.

"Is there anything else?" Chloe asked.

"Your family sent you a letter."

There was a moment of silence.

Creak.

The door opened. Chloe stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other hidden behind her back, gripping a paper cutter tightly.

However, outside the door was no monster, just an ordinary nun with a few freckles, short stature, and a kind, simple demeanor. She was holding a tray with broccoli and stewed red beans.

"You finally came out."

The girl let out a sigh of relief and handed Chloe a wax-sealed letter. "Look, it's from England."

Chloe forced a faint smile, discreetly tucking the paper cutter into her waistband as she accepted the tray and the letter.

"Thank you, Vivi."

A wave of warmth surged in Chloe's heart as she leaned down and kissed her companion on the cheek. The genuine touch brought tears to her eyes.

The girl blushed deeply. "Oh, stop it! What are you doing?" she muttered shyly.

"Nothing."

Chloe let out a long sigh.

"Go back now."

The nun's small figure disappeared, and Chloe closed the door. She ignored the food and immediately opened the letter.

"Chloe, I've found a way to solve your magic overflow problem. But you'll need to return to England first. Don't worry, I'll send someone to pick you up."

– Love, Nico.

The letter was short, and its content didn't surprise Chloe. She had received a similar letter before, even in the timeline of her real world.

She walked to her vanity, her fingers brushing over a black-and-white photograph. The picture showed an elderly man and a little girl no taller than his waist. The background was England's Big Ben.

The girl was smiling brightly, and the old man's grin stretched wide. Yet now, Chloe could discern a deep-seated worry and unease hidden in her great-great-great-grandfather's smile.

Her childhood memories were hazy. She only vaguely recalled the streets of London often being flooded with rainwater, with mist so thick that everyone's silhouette resembled isolated islands in the sea.

And then there was her taciturn great-great-great-grandfather, seemingly her only family. It was strange. Though she had other relatives—uncles, aunts, cousins—there was always an invisible sense of distance in their gazes, even from her parents.

Her parents' looks held respect and fear but lacked affection.

She had asked her great-great-great-grandfather countless times why her parents never kissed her. He would always laugh and tell her, "They love you; they're just not good at showing it." Then he'd hug her and kiss her forehead.

Now, Chloe no longer believed those comforting lies. She felt her parents truly didn't love her. After all, in the six or seven years she had been at Terraire Convent, they hadn't even sent her a single letter.

She concluded that it must be because she couldn't control her magic, constantly causing trouble for others.

Chloe didn't think her powers were anything special. She carried a witch's bloodline, and witches were known for their peculiar abilities. Perhaps time travel was just a trivial aspect of it.

It wasn't until her grandfather sent her to the Terraire Convent in France that she first experienced the warmth of a home. Everyone here treated her kindly—not with superficial respect but genuine care.

They played games with her and shared jokes. There was the stern and nagging Sister Shanesa, the silent yet gentle Father Red, the adorably clumsy Vivi, and the babies she cared for. During the day, the babies would laugh uncontrollably at her, and at night, they would cry endlessly when they saw her.

Father Red understood her unique abilities well. He always appeared at her room precisely before her magic overflowed, advising her to stay calm, let things flow naturally, and surrender her spirit to God.

Though she hated the aftermath of her magic overflow—the utter exhaustion and blackouts—she loved the ethereal feeling it gave her. In those moments, it felt as if all barriers vanished, and she could perceive everything within a hundred-meter radius.

Everything moved at lightning speed in her vision. People darted back and forth like flashes of light, carrying objects around the convent. Workers hauled wood up and down the square, chefs bustled in and out of the glass garden with baskets, apprentices chatted and whispered by the deep well, and cats chased dogs, only for the dogs to chase cats the next day.

Trees swayed vigorously, their leaves growing visibly, flowers blooming and withering in an instant. Even the ancient gargoyles atop the chapel seemed to undergo subtle changes under her gaze.

In those moments, an overwhelming flow of information coursed through her mind. She could observe the myriad aspects of life, as if she were the true sovereign of this world. No one could comprehend the transcendence she experienced.

Yet, even with all this power, she hadn't foreseen the fate that awaited the convent.

Sitting on her bed, a vivid image of red flashed in her mind—the color of blood flowing freely.

"Damn it!"

Recalling the events that followed—the cold, ruthless black-robed witches—she clenched her lips, buried her fingers in her hair, and gripped her scalp tightly.

After a long while, she calmed herself, picked up the letter again, and thought, If I hadn't received this letter, I might have died here already.

To her shock, the words on the letter began to wriggle. Some evaporated, while others rearranged themselves, eventually forming a single, short sentence.

Faint whispers of a few girls came from outside the door.

"No, it's been an entire day. She hasn't eaten or drunk anything."

"She can't go on like this."

Knock, knock, knock. The polite knocking at the door resounded.

"Chloe, open the door."

Inside, Chloe paced the room nervously. Hearing the other nuns calling from outside, she covered her ears and muttered repeatedly, "It's all fake. It's all fake."

Ever since returning to the convent 24 hours ago, she had remained locked in her room, not stepping out for even a moment. Any slight noise startled her, making her jump.

After seeing the grotesque and bizarre creatures in her nightmares, she had become terrified of her dreams. The Terlar Convent was her second home in this world. Since she had been sent there at the age of nine, she had never left.

She feared that if the people in the convent transformed into the monsters she had seen, her mind would not be able to withstand the torment.

"Chloe, open up! Sister Sanisa asked us to bring you dinner," a nun said from outside.

"Just leave it at the door. I'm not feeling well," Chloe replied, leaning against the door.

"Are you okay? You've been acting strange since yesterday."

"I'm fine. Don't ask too many questions."

"Alright..." The nun hesitated.

"Anything else?" Chloe asked.

"Your family sent a letter."

Silence followed for a moment.

Creak.

The door opened, and Chloe stood at the doorway, gripping the doorframe with one hand while hiding the other hand behind her back, clutching a box cutter.

Standing outside was not some terrifying monster, but an ordinary nun. She had a kind face with a few freckles and was short in stature. She held a tray with broccoli and stewed red beans on it.

"You finally came out."

The girl sighed in relief and handed her a wax-sealed letter. "Look, it's from England."

Chloe forced a smile and subtly tucked the box cutter into her waistband before accepting the tray and letter.

"Thank you, Vivi."

She felt a wave of tenderness and, almost impulsively, leaned down to kiss her companion's cheek. The realness of the gesture made her want to cry.

The young nun blushed deeply. "Stop it! What are you doing?" she muttered shyly.

"Nothing."

Chloe let out a long sigh.

"Go back now."

As the small figure of the nun disappeared, Chloe closed the door and sat back in her room. Ignoring the food, she immediately opened the letter.

Chloe, I've found a way to control your magic outbursts, but you need to return to England first. Don't worry, I'll send someone to pick you up.—Love, Nico.

The letter was short, and its contents didn't surprise Chloe. She had received a similar letter in the real world.

She walked to her dressing table, running her fingers over a black-and-white photo resting there. The photo depicted an elderly man and a little girl barely as tall as his waist, with Big Ben in the background.

The little girl wore a radiant smile, and the old man grinned widely. Yet, now, Chloe saw traces of deeply hidden worry and unease in her great-great-great-great-grandfather's smile.

Her childhood memories were hazy at best. She only vaguely remembered the rain-soaked streets of London, where the pervasive white fog made everyone's silhouette appear like an isolated island in the sea.

And, of course, there was her quiet great-great-great-great-grandfather, who seemed to be her only family. Oddly, despite having numerous relatives—uncles, aunts, and cousins—there was always an unspoken distance in their eyes when they looked at her. Even her parents were no exception.

She knew the look in her parents' eyes—respect mixed with fear, but not much love.

She had asked her great-great-great-great-grandfather countless times why her parents never kissed her. He always smiled and said, "They love you dearly; they're just not good at expressing it," before hugging her and kissing her forehead.

Now, Chloe no longer believed such comforting lies. She thought her parents genuinely didn't love her. After all, she had been at the Terlar Convent for six or seven years, and they hadn't even written her a single letter.

She thought it must be because she couldn't control her magic, always causing trouble for others.

Chloe didn't think her abilities were anything special. She carried the blood of a sorcerer, and sorcerers could always do peculiar things. Time travel, she thought, might be the least of their abilities.

Ironically, it was only after her grandfather sent her to the Terlar Convent in France that she experienced the rare warmth of a home. Everyone here treated her kindly—not just superficial respect or care.

They played games with her, teased her, and shared joy. There was stern and nagging Sister Sanisa, quiet yet gentle Father Red, the adorable and clumsy Vivi, and the babies she cared for. The babies would laugh uncontrollably at the sight of her during the day and cry endlessly at night.

Father Red understood her unique abilities well. He always arrived at her room right before her magic outbursts, advising her to remain calm, go with the flow, and surrender her soul to God.

Though she disliked the post-outburst aftermath—the weakness, the darkness—she loved the ethereal clarity during the outburst itself. At that moment, it felt as though all barriers vanished. She could see everything happening within a hundred-meter radius.

Objects moved at lightning speed. People flitted back and forth like bolts of electricity, carrying things across the convent. Laborers hauled wood in the square, chefs bustled in and out of the glass garden, and apprentices whispered near the deep well. Cats chased dogs one day, and dogs chased cats the next.

Trees swayed wildly, leaves grew and withered before her eyes, and even the stone gargoyle perched atop the chapel, standing steadfast for centuries, subtly changed under her gaze.

In that instant, an overwhelming flow of information coursed through her mind. She could survey the world from above, feeling as though she were the true master of this domain. No one could fathom the transcendence she experienced.

But even so...

She had failed to foresee the ultimate fate of the convent.

Sitting on her bed, a flash of red—a streak of blood—crossed her mind.

"Damn it!"

Thinking of what happened next—the cold, ruthless black-robed sorcerers—she clenched her teeth, her fingers digging into her scalp.

After a long while, she calmed herself and picked up the letter again, realizing that without it, she might not have survived this place.

To her astonishment, the words on the letter began to squirm, evaporate, and reorganize themselves, ultimately forming a short yet startling message:

Change everything.

(To be continued...)

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