Harry Potter: I am the Legend

1899

Drip. Drip. Drip.In a dim stone room, faint candlelight flickered on the walls, making it hard to distinguish faces. The walls were covered with torture instruments: whips, iron chains, branding irons, and clamps.

A blond-haired boy knelt on the cold, hard floor, expressionless as he stared at the pool of water before him. Droplets fell steadily from his forehead into the water, creating ripples.

He appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen years old, with blond hair, blue eyes, and sharp, refined features. He wore a black school robe, but his face was bruised and swollen, a cut split his lip, and his eyes showed traces of violence.

Standing opposite him was a tall, burly woman. Her hair was tied back into a short ponytail, and she wore a gray wizard's robe. Leaning against a table with a whip in her hand, she read from a thin file with a cold, biting tone.

"Parents deceased. Grew up alone in the Hawkweyan junkyard. Enrolled at eleven. Skipped to third year at twelve after achieving top grades. Followed Professor Fatiel Deracès on travels at thirteen. Returned at fourteen and began assaulting classmates at will…"

After reading, she set the file down.

"Gellert, what am I supposed to say to you?"

The blond boy remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the pool of water. The only response was the sound of water dripping from his forehead into the pool.

The instructor sighed. "How many times has this happened this week?"

"Six times."

The boy's face remained indifferent.

"And what was the reason this time?"

"No reason. Those mundane fools aren't worthy of sharing a classroom with me."

Crack!

The insolent words earned him a sharp lash of the whip. Immediately, a hulking man emerged from the shadows and forced the boy's head down into the water.

"Arrogant and ignorant," the instructor said coldly. "Durmstrang doesn't need students like you."

Bubbles surfaced in the pool as the boy was held under, his body convulsing violently from the lack of air. Finally, the brute yanked him up by the hair, water pouring from his face as he gasped for breath.

"Will you still hit your classmates?"

The instructor asked.

The boy coughed heavily, the cracks on his lips turning pale from the water. But his expression never wavered. He answered flatly, "They speak ill of me behind my back."

"Who isn't gossiped about? You think every insult deserves a beating?"

"I'm not on the same level as them. I won't allow vermin like them to criticize me."

Splash!

The boy was pushed underwater again, thrashing harder this time as the minutes dragged on. After what seemed like an eternity—three full minutes—the brute finally pulled him up. The boy choked and vomited water, his body heaving.

The instructor crossed her arms and laughed. "And what exactly are you?"

"I will ascend to godhood."

His voice was hoarse yet soft, unshakably resolute.

The brute instinctively moved to push him under again, but the instructor raised her hand to stop him.

She tapped her fingers rhythmically on the table. After a moment of silence, she placed his file back on the desk and gestured for the brute to leave. Understanding the signal, the man withdrew, leaving only the instructor and the boy in the room.

"You think I want to punish you? I'm just following the rules," she said, her tone softening. She bent down slightly.

"You weren't always like this. In your first and second years, you were such a well-behaved child. Why have you become like this now?"

The boy remained silent, unmoved.

The instructor reached out and lifted his chin with her fingers. "Tell me, what do you want?"

The boy flinched slightly, avoiding her touch, and murmured, "I want to change the world."

The instructor sighed. "You can't even handle relationships with others. How do you expect to change the world? Stop dreaming."

Gellert replied, "Those people aren't worthy of my emotions."

The instructor pressed on, "And what about me?"

The boy said nothing.

"Tell me," she persisted. "What do I look like in your eyes?"

Gellert said softly, "You cannot kill me. I will only grow stronger."

The instructor straightened up, her face darkening. She looked down at him and swung her whip hard.

Crack! Crack!

Two heavy lashes struck the boy's face, leaving fresh bloody marks that dripped into the pool.

"It seems no matter how I teach you, you're determined to follow in your teacher's footsteps," she said.

For the first time, the boy lifted his head. Despite the torture, his sharp, defiant eyes shone brilliantly. Kneeling on the floor, he looked directly at her and smiled faintly.

"That, for once, you got right."

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The whip struck repeatedly, leaving more wounds, but the boy's expression remained mocking, unchanging.

The punishment didn't end quickly this time.

After a full three minutes, the instructor threw open the wooden door to the chamber and stormed out, leaving the boy behind.

Drip. Drip.

Blood trickled down his face, falling into the pool and gradually dyeing the water red. The boy maintained his cold demeanor, as though the torture had never happened.

He felt no significant pain. Having grown up surrounded by violence and chaos, punishments like these were far too familiar.

Suddenly, a silver light drifted silently through the window, landing by the pool. It illuminated the boy's pale, emotionless face.

He lifted his head, staring at the silver glow as it floated back out through the window.

Gellert moved his neck slightly and peered through the iron bars outside.

Beyond was the cold night sky of northern Finland. A massive full moon hung high, and in the moonlight, a faint figure stood atop the castle, waving at him.

His expression transformed from cold indifference to joy. "Professor Deracès."

It was as if an old, rusted machine had been oiled, springing back to life. He tried to move his arms, but they were shackled tightly to the wall.

Closing his eyes, he unleashed a powerful surge of mental energy. The entire room began to tremble. The chains clattered loudly against the walls, the whip on the table buzzed and vibrated, and objects shook violently.

A candelabrum fell from the wall, but it froze mid-air just before hitting the water.

The boy opened his eyes, and the candlestick in front of him twisted, burned, and spun, finally forming a ball of molten wax that floated upward slowly.

Under the control of his mental force, the molten wax seeped into the metal cuffs on his arms and solidified, hardening.

A few seconds later, the white wax block turned, and with a crisp click, the metal cuffs unlocked.

The blond boy fell to the ground, not bothering to check the wounds crisscrossing his arms. As soon as he was free of his restraints, he grabbed a crowbar, climbed onto the windowsill, and jumped out.

The Nordic night was exceptionally long, with the aurora shimmering like blue-green silk, constantly shifting shapes across the sky.

In the air, the silver light that had danced earlier led the way ahead like a fairy.

Gellert followed the light, climbing quickly over the staggered rooftops of the castle. His movements were swift, like a feline predator hunting in the dark.

The light was slightly faster, unrestrained by obstacles. Soon, after crossing three spires, Gellert reached the rooftop of the academy's dining hall.

Gellert leaped from the high ground and landed. Sitting in front of him, grinning, was a silver-haired youth perched in the opening of an abandoned vent.

From his appearance, he seemed to be only two or three years older than Gellert. He had short silver hair, wore a leather jacket, and had a slender build. But Gellert knew that his real age was slightly older than he looked.

"Fathir," Gellert greeted.

"Damn it, how long has it been since you called me Professor?" the boy teased with a grin. Then his expression tightened as he pointed to Gellert's injuries. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing." Gellert shrugged indifferently.

"You promised me you wouldn't cause trouble at school."

Fathir's voice carried a hint of disappointment.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call this trouble." Gellert sat down beside Fathir.

Fathir sighed. "Gellert, we had an agreement."

"The maggots were speaking behind your back," Gellert suddenly said, agitated. His face showed disgust, and he spat onto the ground.

"What were they saying?"

The silver-haired youth flicked his wand, conjuring a handkerchief and handing it to Gellert.

"They said you were expelled, that you were useless, that you had no real talent, and that we're not really teacher and student but just idiots working together."

"Oh, oh," Fathir raised his hand with a calm smile. "Gellert, come on. They say these things precisely because they know it will anger you. It's their weapon to provoke you. You must learn to laugh it off."

The boy pouted, muttering sullenly, "I'm not like them."

"I know, I know. Of course, you're not like them. You're destined for greater things."

Fathir smiled and took off his leather jacket, draping it over Gellert's shoulders.

"People destined for greatness don't care about idle criticism, do they?"

"Something like that," Gellert grumbled, his lips curling slightly. Then he suddenly remembered something. "Wait, why are you back at Durmstrang again? If the headmaster or professors find out, they'll come after you."

"Ha, they'll never catch me."

Fathir took a long drag on his cigarette, flicked away the butt, and patted Gellert's shoulder. "Come, I've got something good to show you."

With that, he jumped off the castle roof and slid along the ledges, gripping the rough edges for support.

"What good thing?" Gellert asked, chasing after him curiously.

"Follow me," Fathir replied with a mysterious smile.

The two of them moved in tandem through the castle grounds. They were both intimately familiar with Durmstrang's layout, and it wasn't the first time they had sneaked out of the school together.

Durmstrang was a school built into the mountains, its architecture dotted with castles and statues. Icicles hung from the eaves, and the occasional rough Nordic ornament or graffiti could be seen here and there.

"What have you been up to lately?" Gellert asked as they ran. "The last time you sent me a letter by owl, you said you were dating a French girl."

"Oh, you mean Christina? We broke up ages ago."

Gellert's face darkened. "Wait, wasn't it Tia you mentioned last time?"

"Ah," Fathir laughed awkwardly. "Close enough. They're both French girls."

Gellert rolled his eyes and said nothing more, silently following behind Fathir.

Soon, they approached the back of the school, near the mountains. Here, there was only one final wall separating them from leaving the grounds. Fathir crouched down, boosting Gellert up. Gellert climbed to the top of the wall, reached down, and pulled Fathir up after him. They jumped down into the knee-deep snow below.

Once in the snow, Gellert looked around. There was nothing in sight—just rows of towering beech trees. A few rabbits and reindeer darted away at the sound of their footsteps. Other than that, there was nothing unusual.

"What did you bring me to see? Rabbits?" Gellert asked curiously.

Fathir flicked his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

The space in front of them rippled violently, like melting ice, as waves of distortion erased the illusion.

What had been there was only a magical deception. In truth, the beech trees were toppled over, the ground scattered with dark, congealed blood.

At the center of the fallen trees, a massive black dragon was tearing into half a reindeer. Its razor-sharp scales gleamed, and its immense, fifteen-foot-long body exhaled hot air that melted the surrounding snow.

Sensing Fathir and Gellert's approach, the colossal creature stepped back on its hind legs.

Fathir strode forward without hesitation, reaching out his slender hand to touch the dragon's hardened chin. He grinned and looked back at Gellert. "Well? What do you think?"

"Oh, you found a Hercedir Black Dragon?" Gellert's eyes lit up, a glimmer of excitement in his gaze. He stepped forward but maintained a respectful distance from the dragon.

"She's a female, seven years old, and about to lay eggs. If we're lucky, you might get yourself a dragon egg. Isn't it fantastic?"

Fathir spoke with evident pride.

However, upon hearing this, the smile slowly faded from Gellert's face.

"What's wrong?" Fathir asked, confused by Gellert's expression.

"Every time you do something like this to please me, you always end up saying something that disappoints me, don't you?"

Fathir froze for a moment before letting out a bitter sigh. "You really are my most promising student…"

"Cut it out, dragon tamer. Tell me, what exactly do you want?"

"I might have to leave Europe for a while."

Gellert's eyes widened instantly, and he shouted, "What did you say!?"

The black dragon was startled and let out a thick plume of sulfurous smoke. Even Fathir was taken aback by his outburst.

"Hey, keep it down. I'm not dying; I'm just leaving Europe for a while. Why are you so worked up?"

"I'm going too," Gellert declared immediately. "I've had enough of that school. The people there only care about love, bragging, and Quidditch. There's no one there who understands me."

"Well, I can't deny that," Fathir said, raising an eyebrow. "But for now, you're still too young. Maybe, when you're a little older…"

"I am old enough," Gellert interrupted him.

"I dream every night of the adventures we had last year when you took me out. My life belongs to adventure, to the world. I shouldn't be wasting my life in school."

"Stop, stop. Listen, Gellert, I know you have many complaints about Durmstrang, but right now, school is the place where you belong."

"Fathir!" Gellert's voice grew desperate.

"Gellert." Fathir looked at him firmly.

The two stared at each other for nearly half a minute. Finally, Gellert looked away and muttered sulkily:

"You once said that school isn't a place for smart people."

"Maybe humans have limits," Fathir said softly. "Even the smartest people have their limits."

"People have no limits," Gellert replied, his eyes gleaming with conviction. "That's what you told me, isn't it? We are born to change the world, aren't we?"

Fathir was momentarily stunned. He looked at the boy in front of him, whose expression was so serious. After hesitating for a few seconds, he nodded. "We are born to change the world."

Gellert grinned but said nothing more, instead using his foot to kick at the snow beneath him.

Fathir smiled back. "Alright, don't sulk. I didn't call you out here today just to show you a dragon."

"What else?" Gellert asked.

"Do you remember the ruins we searched for last year? The place said to hold a trove of dragon eggs?"

Gellert's eyes lit up.

"You mean Solomon's Fire Dragon Treasure? You found a clue?"

"Exactly. I've made major progress recently. There's a wizard in Finland with some valuable information. I've tracked down his location. This time, we might really uncover the secret that will change the world."

With that, he leapt onto the dragon's back and extended a hand to Gellert.

"Want to come along?"

Gellert was tempted. He lifted his leg to climb up but hesitated. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked critically at the man sitting on the dragon's back.

"And then what? After this trip?"

"You'll obediently go back to school."

"Then I might as well obediently go back to school right now," Gellert sneered.

Fathir teased, "Oh? Alright, then. Head back and say hello to Instructor Gliese for me."

He grinned, patted the dragon's back, and the mighty Hercedir Black Dragon flapped its wings, running unsteadily across the snow. It picked up speed, faster and faster. The man on the dragon's back waved at Gellert with a carefree flourish.

"Bye-bye~"

Watching Fathir and the dragon disappear into the distance, Gellert gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated sigh. Then, using both his hands and feet, he leapt forward, grabbing onto the dragon's back and clutching the silver-haired man's shoulder.

Fathir turned back and grinned.

"Hold on tight."

The black dragon beat its wings and soared into the clouds.

(End of Chapter)

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