"First-year students need to prepare... three sets of plain work robes and a... wand?"
"It's just standard kit, Harry."
"A pair of dragon-hide gloves... Hagrid, are they real dragon skin?"
"Well, they're not made of penguin skin, are they?"
On the Underground, a small boy named Harry was chatting loudly with a giant of a man dressed in a floral coat, his fluffy hair drawing as much attention as his booming voice.
The pair stood out like a Bludger in a china shop. Other passengers glanced curiously at them, overhearing snippets of what sounded like fantasy gibberish. Most assumed they were filming something—perhaps street theatre or a prank show—though no one could spot a camera.
"And a cauldron... Can you get all of this in London, Hagrid?"
"Course you can, long as you know where to look."
"Are we heading to Oxford Street, then?"
"Nah, we're going to Diagon Alley."
"Diagon Alley? Where's that? Are we headed there now?"
"Not just yet. We've got to pick someone up first. He'll be starting at Hogwarts too."
As he spoke, Hagrid rummaged through his enormous coat, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper no bigger than his palm. Squinting at it, he brought it up close to his eyes.
"Right, we'll be getting off at the next stop," Hagrid said.
"Yeah?"
Harry tucked away his Hogwarts letter, nervous yet excited to meet this mysterious soon-to-be schoolmate.
Would he be like Harry?
Could he do magic already?
Harry's mind was a whirl of questions until Hagrid gave the word to disembark.
After a brief walk, they found themselves on a quiet residential street.
As they strolled further, Harry spotted someone odd.
It was a boy around Harry's age, though a bit taller, standing beneath a lamppost in the morning light, sipping tea from a Luxurious cup. Beside him sat a fully arranged tea set atop a large suitcase.
Their eyes met at the same moment.
Hagrid blinked at the sight.
"Muggle-Repelling Charm? You must be Remi Barrett, right? Didn't expect you to already know that sort of magic… Anyway, I'm here to take you to Hogwarts. This is your acceptance letter." Hagrid stepped forward and offered the envelope.
"Thank goodness! I was starting to think my tea would go cold waiting for you."
Remi took the letter with a sigh of relief and opened it immediately.
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Albus Dumbledore
(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, First Class)
Dear Mr Barrett,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Enclosed is a list of necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"I'm afraid I won't be able to owl Professor McGonagall before the 31st. My teacher refuses to let me fiddle with the Time-Turner," Remi muttered.
"That's a wise decision... But why're you out here instead of at home?" Hagrid asked.
"Don't even start. My parents moved without telling me, and I didn't want to impose at someone else's house, so I waited here instead."
"Fair enough."
Hagrid shrugged, then turned to Harry and gave him a nudge.
"Ah, I nearly forgot. Remi, this is Harry—Harry Potter. You've probably heard of him."
"So you're the Boy Who Lived. I was planning to track you down at Hogwarts! I'm Remi—Remi Barrett." He extended his hand.
"Thanks," Harry replied, shaking it, but still puzzled. "Er… what exactly do you mean by 'Boy Who Lived'? I don't get it."
"You've never heard the stories about yourself?"
"No."
Harry shook his head again.
"Could you tell me? Why do people call me that?"
"Let me think…"
Remi scratched his head, then calmly poured two cups of black tea from the kettle and handed them to Hagrid and Harry.
"In magical Britain, there once was a little jerk called—"
PFFFFT!
Hagrid, mid-sip, sprayed his tea.
Luckily, being tall, he managed not to spray Remi directly.
"Ahem... we usually call him the Dark Lord, lad," Hagrid coughed.
"Oh, right—there once was a little jerk known as the Dark Lord."
Hagrid: ...
Fine. If that's what helps you cope...
"He called himself Voldemort."
Blanch!
Hagrid's eyes widened and he lunged forward to clap a hand over Remi's mouth.
"Remi! Don't say his name out loud! He cursed it—anyone who says it can be tracked!"
Remi peeled Hagrid's hand away, exasperated. "Let him track me then. What's he going to do? Send me a howler?"
Hagrid froze.
Remi then pointed up at the sky: "Oi, Voldemort! I'm coming for you!"
Silence. Three full seconds of stunned silence.
Then Remi casually poured himself another cup of tea.
"See? Nothing. Still alive and well."
Hagrid: ...
Harry: ...
Do your family know you're like this?
"Anyway, where was I?" Remi asked.
"You were saying that a certain Dark Lord tried to rule the wizarding world," Harry reminded him.
"Right. So—this little punk wanted to conquer the wizarding world. Your parents didn't bow to him, so he decided to kill them. You were one year old when he did it—but you survived, and he vanished."
Remi spoke quickly.
"That's why everyone calls you the Boy Who Lived. Some even call you the Saviour of the Wizarding World."
Hagrid listened silently, his expression unreadable.
This was meant to be an epic tale—full of sorrow, bravery, and heroism—but in Remi's mouth, it sounded like some playground squabble.
"So... that man—Voldemort—he killed my parents?" Harry asked.
"That's what they say. I didn't see it for myself… Hagrid, are we heading to Diagon Alley now?" Remi asked, switching gears.
"Ah, yes! Let's get going. We've got your school supplies to sort."
Glad for the change of topic, Hagrid led them both back toward the station after Remi carefully packed up his tea set.
End of the Chapter.