Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Ryan climbed out of the subway station. Perched atop the station's signpost was his owl, its head twisted 180 degrees as it held a dead rat in its beak, staring directly at him.

About thirty meters away, amidst the cracked ground, stood an iron cocoon as tall as a man. It was a remnant of the battle between Hoffa and Gilia, now serving as a prison for the vampire who had shared a fleeting moment of intimacy with him.

Instinctively, Ryan took two steps toward the iron cocoon but quickly turned back. Rushing to his owl, he pulled a roll of parchment from his chest, scribbled a message hurriedly, and tied the letter to the bird's leg.

"Quick, Molly! Take this to Hogwarts and get Headmaster Hurst to send someone here. It's urgent, understand?"

The owl tilted its head back, discarded the food in its beak, and flapped its wings, rising into the air. Ryan then raised his wand and performed a series of intricate movements. With a surge of magical energy and a faint popping sound, his owl collided with an invisible spell in midair and vanished into the ether, leaving only a few mottled feathers gently falling from the sky.

Relieved, Ryan let out a long breath and strode briskly toward the iron cocoon, examining it closely.

There was no doubt—this was the most masterful use of transfiguration he had ever seen. In an instant, that Ravenclaw student had altered the structure and properties of matter, creating a cage on the spot to imprison Gilia firmly within it.

No incantation, no visible casting process—just pure mental power. Ryan doubted anyone at Hogwarts could achieve such a feat. Not even the Transfiguration professor, perhaps.

"So, is this why you left Hogwarts?" Ryan muttered bitterly, tapping the seamless iron cocoon repeatedly with his wand, searching for a flaw to free the severely injured vampire inside.

No matter what he tried—whether spells or counter-charms—the cocoon stood unyielding, as immovable as an eternal glacier. Its intricately interlocking patterns filled Ryan with despair.

After ten frustrating minutes of trying to break it with magic, he gave up. Pressing his ear against the surface, he listened, but there was no sound. The cocoon was as silent as a solid iron sphere.

Despite having witnessed the brutality of vampires in the dungeons—humans drained to husks and innocent girls placed on platters—Ryan couldn't suppress the growing worry in his heart. Would she die? And if she didn't, could there still be a chance for her to reform?

With these thoughts, he scavenged a rusty crowbar from a nearby trash heap, deciding to resort to Muggle methods to open the impenetrable cocoon.

Taking a deep breath, he cautiously inserted the tip of the crowbar and applied a bit of pressure.

With a sharp crack, the entire iron cocoon shattered into pieces, crumbling into dust and rubble. A gray figure tumbled out, twitching slightly on the ground.

Ryan was stunned. He hadn't held out much hope, treating this as a last-ditch effort. Yet, unbelievably, the unbreakable cocoon shattered like an eggshell when faced with the crowbar.

Something felt off. Typically, a transfiguration spell couldn't be undone unless the caster nullified it, a higher-level wizard intervened, or the caster died or ran out of magical power.

Ryan dismissed the last two possibilities. His transfiguration skills were far inferior to Hoffa's, and he couldn't imagine Hoffa dying or depleting his magical reserves. Considering Hoffa's knack for setting traps, Ryan doubted even death would stop him.

These thoughts were fleeting, though. Ryan's attention quickly shifted to the unconscious vampire on the ground.

Turning her over, he found her appearance vastly different from before. Gone was her pale, alluring beauty. Instead, she was gray, shriveled, and emaciated, with protruding bones—like a severely malnourished woman in her fifties.

Ryan's hand trembled. He could hardly believe that this skeletal figure before him was the same breathtaking beauty who had captivated him just a few hours ago. The drastic transformation left him struggling to accept what he saw.

The vampire wasn't dead. Upon seeing Ryan, she mustered all her strength to roll onto her side. Her gaunt, protruding eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

"Blood..."

Her raspy voice croaked the word. She fixed her gaze on Ryan's neck and desperately tried to push herself up from the ground but failed.

"Blood..." she repeated, lying there, unable to say anything more.

Ryan steadied himself and knelt back down. A chill crept over him, as if a pleasant dream had shattered into a cruel reality. The façade of life was stripped away, leaving behind the desolation of a dried-up riverbed.

"Are you... alright?"

The question felt absurd even as it left his lips. Looking at her current state, "alright" was hardly the word to describe her condition.

"Blood..." she murmured again, her voice fading.

Ryan sighed and muttered to himself, "Were you lying to me before? All those words—were they just to lure me underground?"

He reached out hesitantly, his hand brushing her dry, grotesque forehead. The texture was as rough as sandpaper.

"I've been down there," he said softly, his tone firm. "No matter what, I'll never forgive what you did. But I also promised to deliver you alive to the Wizengamot for trial. I won't break my word."

As he spoke, his wand transformed into a sharp dagger in his hand.

A cold gleam flashed.

A drop of red blood trickled from his palm, falling onto the vampire's withered face. Her body convulsed like a coiled spring, snapping upward as she opened her shriveled mouth lined with jagged fangs.

Drop by drop, his blood fell into her mouth, and her body absorbed it like parched soil drinking in rain. She began to swell rapidly, like a desiccated sponge soaking up water. Meanwhile, Ryan's complexion paled from the blood loss.

Within ten breaths, the skeletal crone on the ground had transformed into a thin woman in her early thirties. Though she was far from the stunning beauty she had been during their first encounter, her features now bore a forlorn charm, a faded elegance reminiscent of a flower past its prime. The wound on her chest from Hoffa's devastating blow remained, but she was no longer on the brink of death.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Three soft cracks echoed, accompanied by a surge of magical energy.

Black smoke dissipated into the air.

Ryan quickly clenched his hand and stood up. A chestnut-colored owl swooped down, landing on his shoulder. It flapped its wings and gently pecked at his ear.

From the darkness, several figures emerged. They wore dark green suits, blending in effortlessly with the ordinary Muggle office workers of the city streets. They appeared to be about Ryan's age.

Relieved to recognize the newcomers, Ryan exhaled and clasped his hands behind his back. "Why is it you lot who came?"

"Why not us?"

The leader, a blond boy, held up a piece of parchment. "Since this concerns a Slytherin renegade, it's only fitting for Slytherins to handle it."

"I thought my letter went to Professor Hurst," Ryan said, puzzled.

"Hufflepuff and Gryffindor teams are assisting in Birmingham right now. This coastal area falls under our jurisdiction." The blond Slytherin spoke calmly, his voice laced with an impenetrable indifference.

"I see. What about Professor Slughorn? Why isn't he here?"

"He's back at the camp brewing potions. He's unavailable at the moment," the blond replied, his tone growing impatient.

"Enough with the questions," he snapped. "Your letter said it was an urgent situation. Now that we're here, stop wasting time. Where's the problem? Lead us to it."

"No, this won't do. It's too dangerous down there. Without a fully-qualified adult wizard leading the way, I can't feel at ease."

The faces of the Slytherins in front of him darkened, their expressions growing displeased.

"Well, isn't this rare? A Hufflepuff questioning the abilities of Slytherin. As far as I know, your house hasn't won the House Cup in four or five years," one of them sneered.

At this, the group parted respectfully, revealing the speaker behind them.

The boy had black hair and dark eyes, his shoulder-length hair framing a pale, fine-featured face with slightly prominent cheekbones, likely due to his slender build. He wore a sharply tailored Muggle suit that accentuated his tall, upright figure. His long fingers, elegant like those of a pianist, gripped a wand while adorned with an ancient black ring. Around his neck was a green-and-black scarf embroidered with a serpent, giving him an air of nobility and striking handsomeness.

He stepped out of the group, his wand in hand, and approached Ryan with a warm smile. Yet Ryan couldn't ignore the overwhelming pressure that radiated from him.

Ryan knew this figure all too well—Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin's newly appointed prefect and one of the most celebrated Hogwarts students in recent years.

"Even you are not enough," Ryan said firmly. "You don't understand what's down there. It's extremely dangerous. We need an adult wizard present."

Tom Riddle ignored Ryan's warning, circling him and the injured vampire three times, his piercing gaze flitting between them. Ryan felt unnerved, as if under intense scrutiny.

"A nocturnal creature? Werewolf? Vampire? Or something else?" Riddle finally asked, pointing at the woman beside Ryan.

"Vampire," Ryan replied, instinctively straightening his posture.

Although Riddle was two years his junior, Ryan knew he wasn't a match for him. The Slytherin prefect had a reputation for defeating all challengers in the school's Dueling Club, including renowned sixth- and seventh-year students. Rumors said he was skilled enough to join the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Magical Defense Against the Dark Arts, yet he had chosen to remain at Hogwarts.

"From Bournemouth?" Riddle inquired.

"Yes. There are many more behind... She's severely injured. Can we treat her first?"

"Who injured her? Was it you?" Riddle crouched down, stroking his chin as he examined the deep indentation in the vampire's chest that had yet to heal.

Ryan could sense that Riddle didn't regard him as an equal. Taking a step forward, Ryan positioned himself protectively in front of the vampire.

"This has nothing to do with that, Riddle. I need her alive. She's a crucial witness in this incident and can provide valuable information."

"Ah, I see."

For the first time, Riddle's gaze shifted to Ryan's face.

The look sent a chill down Ryan's spine. It was a predator's gaze, devoid of warmth or compassion, like a serpent sizing up its prey.

"Tyra."

Riddle called out, his voice calm yet commanding.

"I'm here," a Slytherin girl with a long braid stepped forward.

"Escort this important vampire lady to the camp. Take good care of her," Riddle said, his voice smooth and magnetic.

"Understood."

The composed Slytherin girl approached and, with deliberate but firm movements, pulled the vampire away from Ryan's arms.

Ryan exhaled slightly in relief, finding Riddle to be more reasonable than he appeared. However, that sense of relief was fleeting.

"And take this Hufflepuff senior to the camp as well. Keep him separate from the vampire. We can't have them getting too cozy," Riddle added coldly.

Immediately, the blond Slytherin at the front stepped forward and pressed a firm hand on Ryan's shoulder.

"What?" Ryan exclaimed in shock. "Don't you want me to lead the way?"

"If a Hufflepuff like you could make it out of that city unscathed, I'm confident I can do the same," Riddle said, his tone dripping with mockery.

With a flick of his wand, a sharp pain erupted in Ryan's hand. He cried out and instinctively revealed his left hand, which had been hidden behind his back. The wound he had cut earlier now bore a moving, smoky black serpent, writhing like a tattoo.

"She drank your blood," Riddle stated coldly. "If it was against your will, you're too weak. If it was by choice, then your character is... questionable."

Riddle's pale, steady fingers held his wand as he pressed it against Ryan's abdomen.

"I'm inclined to suspect the latter," he said, his voice low and icy.

Before Ryan could react, a spell flashed. His body stiffened, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud. From his prone position, all he could see were the uniform, polished leather boots of the Slytherins in their dark green suits.

(End of Chapter)

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