"Yes, oh, Merlin's fat underpants..." Hagrid was still sighing, "Even after all this time, people still get nervous when they think of him. He was as evil as evil gets. His name was..."
But when he got to this point, he swallowed and couldn't get another word out.
"How about... we write the name down?" Harry asked considerately.
"No, I can't spell his name. It's better if I just tell you; his name is Voldemort." Hagrid shivered. "Anyway, this Dark Wizard was incredibly, unbelievably powerful. Most Wizards didn't dare speak his name directly, so they call him by... that name."
"Then where is this person now?" Harry took a deep breath.
The murderer has a name and a face. Now, as his son, he must avenge his parents!
But Harry noticed Hagrid's expression had turned odd in an instant.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Er… You-Know-Who is already dead." Hagrid reached out again to ruffle Harry's hair, "It happened ten years ago, on that night; he wanted to kill you, but in the end, you… well, I don't know what happened either, but he couldn't kill you, and then he just… poof."
As he spoke, Hagrid spread his hands wide, miming a firework going off.
Hearing this answer, Harry's face turned equally peculiar.
Such a powerful Dark Wizard, single-handedly defeated by a baby?
He'd been building up all his resolve for revenge, ready to take down the Dark Wizard—only to find out the score had already been settled sixteen years ago… no, ten years ago?
And apparently, by his own hands…
It was like throwing your hardest punch, only to hit a pile of cotton.
"So he's dead?" Harry asked.
"That's what everyone thinks. After all, for someone that evil, if he hasn't shown up to cause trouble after ten whole years, he must be dead." Hagrid clenched his fist and gave his leg a couple of thumps. "But I don't think so. I mean, someone that wicked—how could he die so easily? He's probably hiding somewhere nobody knows about, waiting for the right time to come back and make trouble again."
Harry nodded in understanding, then asked, "So, Hagrid, just how powerful was this Dark Wizard you mentioned?"
"How powerful?" Hagrid looked at Harry like he was from another planet. "Ha! Powerful… Back when he was alive, he attracted a whole crowd of followers. Some just wanted power, some were scared—anyway, those were tough times. You didn't know who you could trust. That man terrorized the Magic World, killing Wizards everywhere, putting everyone on edge. But there was only one place he didn't dare enter lightly—Hogwarts—"
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Why?" Hagrid repeated, and his expression turned proud in an instant. "Because Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Wizard in the world. No matter how wild You-Know-Who got, he didn't dare mess with him!"
Harry nodded knowingly. So…the Principal didn't sound half so annoying as Phineas Black, at least.
"And this Vol-" As soon as Hagrid heard the 'Vol-' his face tensed up again, so Harry quickly changed tune: "Sorry, I mean You-Know-Who. In the days when You-Know-Who ran amok, did he kill a lot of Wizards?"
"Yes, those were some truly dark days." Hagrid shivered. "There were hundreds of Wizards who died at his hand."
When he heard the number, Harry frowned slightly and nodded without comment.
"Hmm, and then what happened the next day?"
Hagrid: "Huh?"
Realizing he'd asked something odd, Harry hurriedly corrected himself: "No, I mean, why didn't Principal Dumbledore do anything to stop You-Know-Who?"
"Dumbledore set up an organization to fight You-Know-Who and his followers—"
Just as he said this, the train came to a stop.
Hagrid cut himself off, packed away the tent, and said to Harry, "I think we'd better get off. The train's arrived in London now."
As they got off, Harry listened to Hagrid grumbling about how narrow the ticket gates were at the London station, then complaining about how slow the train had been.
Harry agreed with all of it—after all, the Hogwarts Express was much faster than this old-time subway car.
Big and lumbering, Hagrid shoved his way through the platform with Harry, walking them straight toward their destination.
This was Harry's first time in London—well, in the London of 1991. He'd visited the Victorian Era London with his classmates before.
Skyscrapers everywhere, crowded with cars, everything was a world away from the Victoria age of a century before.
It all felt new to Harry. Pulled along by Hagrid, he couldn't help rubbernecking in all directions, eager to soak in the city's modern scenery.
The whole thing felt strange; after all, just last month he'd been sightseeing in London with his classmates.
To Harry, only a month had passed; but to this city, a full century had gone by.
"Alright, we're here."
Hagrid interrupted Harry's thoughts, pointing to the dirty, cramped pub ahead. "Broken Cauldron Bar—this is a pretty famous place."
At the same time, a group of trendily dressed young people walked past behind them, chatting excitedly about something, but not sparing Hagrid or the pub even a glance.
Logically, a man as massive as Hagrid should've turned heads, especially among the Muggles.
But these people didn't notice Hagrid at all—totally contrary to common sense.
Muggle-Repelling Charm, Harry thought to himself.
Then Hagrid hustled him straight inside the pub.
The Broken Cauldron Bar—Harry had been here plenty of times before. It had been founded by Daisy Dodderidge around the year 1500, who became the bar's first owner.
She made this into the gateway linking the non-Magic world and Diagon Alley. There was a bar counter for drinks and rooms upstairs for rent.
The last time Harry was here, he'd heard the Muggle Government was planning to build Charing Cross Street. According to the early plans, the pub would be demolished.
The then Minister of Magic, Faris Spavin, thought this was just the Broken Cauldron Bar's final destiny and didn't try to do a thing.
A few days before he returned to 1991, Harry had heard at school that his classmates were trying to organize all their families to pressure the Ministry of Magic to save the bar.
Omnius told him privately that such efforts were pointless, but Harry had still signed the joint petition supporting the cause.
Looking at it now, the bar had been saved after all.