While Harry pondered silently, Hagrid continued answering his many questions.
"...In recent decades, the main persecution within the wizarding world has actually come from pure-bloods and half-bloods against Muggle-borns..."
Hagrid paused, realizing he had probably said too much. These weren't things he should be discussing with a child. He shook his head slightly. No—he should talk about the good in the magical world, not its ugliness.
There shouldn't be so much hatred, fighting, and killing. The wizarding world should be filled with more love. For the first time, Hagrid felt like he understood Dumbledore's ideals a bit better. It felt unnatural to speak to a child about war and death. He should focus on the beautiful things instead.
Of course, Hagrid had no idea that Harry had already demonized Hogwarts in his mind.
"In short, Hogwarts is a wonderful place," Hagrid said, though even he felt his words lacked conviction. He scratched his head awkwardly.
"I believe that after some training, you'll become a truly exceptional wizard. You're already a very talented child. I can't even beat you anymore!" he added with a forced laugh.
"But it's always good to learn more magic—not just combat spells, but also potion-making and how to care for magical creatures. Magic isn't just for fighting. It's about love."
"Oh—and here's your letter. You should read it now."
Harry nodded, shifting his thoughts. Being able to learn magic was indeed valuable—not just for combat, but for everyday life. With the right spells, he could significantly improve his quality of living.
If he ever ended up back in the Middle Ages again—or returned to the world of A Song of Ice and Fire—magic would be incredibly useful.
Finally, he took the envelope he'd long been curious about. He'd never been able to open it before, thanks to Uncle Vernon's relentless obstruction.
It was pale yellow, and the address was written in vivid emerald-green ink:
Mr. H. Potter,
The Hut-on-the-Rock,
The Sea.
Harry tore it open and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1.
We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Just seeing the name Hogwarts lit a spark in Harry's mind. Another reason to go.
He could feel it—his intuition was clear: there would be achievements to earn and attribute points to gain there. In the world of Westeros, he had relied on this very instinct to guide his path through major events.
Now, back in this strange version of the world named Harry Potter, that same intuition told him Hogwarts was the next center of fate. Destiny would converge there.
And he would be ready.
Countless questions swirled in Harry's mind, and his long-dormant intellect was now fully awake. He couldn't decide where to begin. After a brief pause, he asked the first question that came to mind:
"What do they mean by 'await your owl'?"
"Raging Gorgon! Oh—I almost forgot!" Hagrid smacked his forehead with force enough to stun a horse.
Even though Harry hadn't hit him hard earlier, Hagrid's recovery seemed almost unnaturally quick. His endurance was bizarrely high.
From a pouch at his waist, Hagrid pulled out a large owl, a long quill, and a parchment scroll. He scribbled a quick note, biting his tongue in concentration.
Harry leaned over to glance at the writing:
Dear Dumbledore,
Given Harry his letter.
He is very, very strong.
Can't believe he's only eleven—so excellent.
Will take him to get his things tomorrow.
Weather's dreadful.
Hagrid
Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, and walked to the door. He opened it and let the bird soar out into the storm.
Then he returned and sat down casually, as if this were just like making a phone call.
Harry nodded thoughtfully. So that's how messages worked here. Owls were like ravens in Westeros.
The Maesters' ravens could only fly between designated castles and sometimes got lost. Greenseers' ravens were different—they could mimic speech or even peer into the minds of the dead.
But the wizards' owls seemed far more advanced. Likely faster, with an innate tracking ability. Perhaps they possessed a tiny spark of magic—maybe 0.1—but not enough to transfer consciousness like in Bloodraven's days.
"Alright," Harry said, "I get it now. But... can we talk about my parents?"
He hesitated. "When I was younger, Aunt Petunia told me they died in a car crash. But today I learned that's not the case, is it?"
"A car crash?!" Hagrid growled, his voice filled with outrage. "How could a mere car crash hurt Lily and James Potter? That's slander. It's a lie!"
"Then how did they really die? Who killed them? Be specific."
Inside, Harry's fury was white-hot, though his face remained calm. A storm raged beneath the surface.
He would find the one responsible—and destroy him.
Hagrid's rage faded, replaced by anxiety. He seemed unsure of how to continue.
"Dumbledore warned me… told me it might be hard to find you. That there were things you didn't know. Oh, Harry—I don't know if I should tell you. But someone has to."
He sat down heavily.
"I'll tell you what I know—but not everything. Some things are still unknown, even now..."
He took a deep breath. "I suppose I should start with a wizard. But... you must know his name. Everyone in our world does—"
"Who?" Harry interrupted, his tone flat. "Give me his name."
In his heart, the verdict was already decided. This man would die. He would twist his skull off and drink from it.
"I'd rather not say it out loud... No one likes to."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"People are still terrified. Even now..." Hagrid shook his head.
"There was a wizard back then. He turned evil—completely evil. The worst you can imagine."
He hesitated, swallowed hard.
"His name was..." Hagrid paused. "I can't spell it. But—he was called Voldemort."
He shuddered violently. "Don't make me say it again."
Harry stored the name in his memory, silently vowing vengeance.
Hagrid continued, "About twenty years ago, he began gathering followers. Some were drawn by fear. Others wanted to learn his powerful dark magic. And he was powerful—getting stronger every day."
"Those were dark days, Harry. No one knew who to trust. Friends turned on each other. Terrible things happened."
"Some stood against him—and he killed them all."
Hagrid lowered his voice. "The only place that felt safe was Hogwarts. Voldemort feared Dumbledore. He never dared to touch the school... not back then, at least."
"Sounds terrifying," Harry said flatly.
But inside, he was memorizing every detail, every clue.
Voldemort.
The name of the man who would die by his hands.