Harry Potter: I am the Legend

"Whoosh."

"Do you often do this? Flirting with women while traveling?" the woman asked.

"No," the man replied with a smile.

"Liar, you seem like a seasoned player."

"It's just that you're too beautiful; I couldn't help myself," the man said, feigning sincerity.

"Couldn't help yourself? How self-indulgent."

Resting her head on the man's chest, she teased, "What if I devour you? What would you do?"

"Hmm, little darling, where do you plan to start?" he teased back.

"What do you think?" she asked playfully, then suddenly raised her head, her tone curious. "You're so naive. Is this your first time in this city?"

Feigning a deeper tone, the man replied, "I did come from another city, but I'm far from naive."

A dark laugh echoed through the room.

Suddenly, a white cloth emerged from the shadows, covering the woman's head. She could only let out a muffled cry before being dragged into the darkness by an unseen force.

The man on the bed froze in terror, frantically retreating to the corner. "Who's there!?"

No one answered. In the pitch-black darkness, there was only the sound of the woman's muffled struggles and objects shattering.

Clutching his clothes, the man pressed himself against the wall, trembling and drenched in cold sweat. "I—I warn you! Breaking into someone's room is against the law!"

Silence lingered, broken only by the faint sounds of resistance. Gradually, the woman's cries ceased. The man's fear grew unbearable. He began to realize something chilling—the room was unnaturally dark. Why was it so black in this hotel?

Shards of glass crunched under soft footsteps. Suddenly, a pair of dim golden eyes appeared before him.

"New to the city?" the eyes' owner asked.

"Y-yes," the man stammered.

"You should leave. This place isn't safe."

With that, the figure opened a cabinet, revealing a horrifying sight. Inside were three dried corpses, stacked carelessly like discarded refuse. The figure then dragged the woman's limp body out of the room and disappeared.

Shaking uncontrollably, the man scrambled to turn on the lights. The room was in disarray: the overturned sofa, shattered glass, and the gruesome discovery in the cabinet haunted him.

A faint scream echoed from afar.

Hoffa, unfazed, walked calmly down a luxurious honey-colored marble corridor in a crimson waiter's uniform, pushing a silver trolley. He politely greeted hotel guests as he passed.

The grand hotel was opulent, adorned with crystal chandeliers, rich tapestries, and gilded furnishings from the 17th and 18th centuries.

Hoffa and Ryan had been tirelessly investigating the source of the plague in the city but found no leads. Though they had captured a few vampires, they were merely low-level thralls with no knowledge of the higher echelons.

As time passed, the city's chaos deepened. Every morning, bodies appeared on the streets—disheveled, smiling corpses lying stiffly in various corners. Soldiers, wrapped tightly in their uniforms, had become mere scavengers. By day, they cleared the streets, faces etched with despair; by night, they locked themselves away, praying to escape misfortune.

Citizens resorted to digging massive pits outside the city to bury unclaimed bodies in terrifying numbers.

Abandoning the city's outskirts, Hoffa and Ryan infiltrated Bournemouth's elite district, hoping for clues.

At the corridor's end, Ryan emerged from a room, carrying a heavy silver tray. He received a ten-pence tip from the room's occupant, nodded politely, and closed the door.

"Why must I dress like this?" Ryan grumbled under his breath as they walked. "Why not pose as a guest instead?"

"Guests wandering freely would raise suspicion and hinder our search," Hoffa replied.

"Makes sense," Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm one of Hogwarts' best students, yet here I am, serving Muggles."

"When you intern at the Ministry or Gringotts after graduation, you won't fare much better," Hoffa retorted.

Ryan sighed dramatically but followed Hoffa into the elevator.

Inside, Hoffa stopped the elevator mid-descent, manipulating its gears with magic to halt it in a secluded spot. After ensuring there were no hidden dangers, he unveiled the trolley's contents.

Inside lay a pale-skinned, blonde woman in a purple, low-cut dress. Bound hand and foot, her makeup smeared with tears, she looked both helpless and defiant.

"Ask her," Hoffa instructed Ryan, glancing at his watch. "We have about ten minutes before someone notices."

"Why not let me handle it? I'll make her spill every secret, down to her ancestors," Ryan boasted.

Hoffa arched a brow but stepped aside, watching as Ryan hesitated, visibly unnerved by the vampire's beauty.

"You—what happened to your bravado?" Hoffa asked, shaking his head.

Ignoring Ryan's faltering confidence, the vampire smirked, her expression growing sharp and menacing.

Looking at the transparent glass vial, the vampire seemed to sense something ominous. The mocking smile on her face disappeared, replaced by a desperate struggle in the corner.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded, writhing against her restraints.

Hoffa crouched down, grasping her cold, smooth yet lifelessly cold cheeks, and forced her mouth open.

"Arousal potion," Hoffa said cheerfully. "Once ingested, it'll set you ablaze with uncontrollable desire. If you don't exhaust yourself with three thousand rounds of pleasure, you'll explode on the spot."

"Don't you dare, little wizard! I warn y—mmph!"

Her protests were cut short as the vial was shoved into her mouth. Half of the potion had already been poured down her throat before she could react.

She violently shook her head, trying to spit out the liquid, but Hoffa pressed her mouth shut and pinned her against the wall. Her struggles were so intense that the veins on her neck and forehead bulged, and her fingers morphed into sharp claws.

Gradually, her resistance waned. Her body's abnormal changes receded, and by the time Hoffa released her and stood up, the light in her eyes had faded completely.

She slumped in the corner, her head tilted, mouth slightly ajar, drooling like a senile patient. The once-overpowering allure and charm she radiated dissipated entirely.

Ryan sighed. "Thanks for stepping in. I couldn't have done it without you."

"It's fine," Hoffa said, handing the glass vial back to Ryan.

As Ryan pocketed it, concern clouded his face. "I told you, three drops were enough. Truth serums can be highly toxic."

"She's a vampire. Who knows how her physiology differs from a normal person's?" Hoffa replied. He held up three fingers before the vampire's dazed eyes. "How many fingers am I holding?"

"Three," the vampire muttered, her voice slurred and lethargic.

He lowered one finger. "And now?"

"Two."

He lowered another.

This time, she remained silent.

Satisfied, Hoffa nodded. The truth serum had taken effect. If she still retained her consciousness, she would have reflexively answered "one." Her silence confirmed her mind had surrendered to the potion's influence.

"What's your name?" Hoffa asked.

"Nineteen. I am the nineteenth child of Father," the vampire replied, her voice dreamy and detached.

"Don't you have a real name?"

"In ancient times, I was called Jilia. Jilia Bowman," she murmured.

"Alright, Nineteen. Who is your Father? Was he the one who turned you into this?"

"Yes. He is the great god who granted me a second life—the right hand of the Night God, the supreme glory of blood, the King of Bournemouth."

"What is his name?"

"I don't know. Father never told us his name."

She laughed vacantly, her body swaying slightly as her face flushed. She began to chant reverently, like a devout nun. "Oh, Father, my God..."

"Does your Father reside in this hotel?" Hoffa asked.

"No. This hotel belongs to my brother," she replied.

"Your brother?"

"Twenty-seven."

It seemed Hoffa's questions had unlocked something in her. She began speaking ceaselessly. "That fool wastes his time with women and frivolity. One day, I'll devour him, take everything he has. Eventually, I'll consume all the others and become Father's only beloved child."

Her chilling ambition sent shivers down Hoffa's spine, but he pushed on. "What is your Father's goal?"

"To become a true vampire prince, to unite the blood clans of Europe, to launch vengeance and retaliation against the wizards and humans. He dreams of turning night into day, letting the blood clans rule the world."

"And how does he plan to become a prince?"

"I don't know the exact process. The main ingredient is blood—vast quantities of blood. Over the years, Father has collected blood from the residents of all nearby towns. Tonight, he will ascend as the true vampire prince, reborn, immortal."

Hoffa's face turned pale. Even with his vast experiences, he was shaken by the scale of this plan. The phrase "surrounding areas" hinted at unspeakable atrocities. He recalled the ghost towns along the coastline since his arrival, eerily empty and lifeless.

The supposed "safe zones" were merely traps, luring people in for a massacre. How had the British Ministry of Magic missed such a calamity along the coast? If not for Hogwarts students uncovering the anomaly, the entire country might soon face a nightmarish crisis.

He steadied himself and asked, "Tonight?"

"Tonight," the vampire said with a delirious smile. "Tonight..."

"Where? What location?" Hoffa pressed.

"In... in..." She tried to answer, but her voice faltered, and her mouth moved without producing sound.

"Where is it?" Hoffa demanded, a sense of urgency gripping him. He suspected the mastermind's plans were linked to Chloe's disappearance.

The vampire's head lolled to the side, her tongue hanging out as drool pooled on the floor. No matter how much Hoffa questioned her, she remained unresponsive.

Ryan placed a hand near her nose. "She's out cold. You overdosed her on the serum."

(End of Chapter)

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