"Yes, oh, Merlin's fat underwear..." Hagrid was still sighing, "Even though so much time has passed, people are still uneasy. This person is truly as evil as it gets, his name is..."
But when he got to this point, he swallowed, and simply couldn't say another word.
"Why don't... we just write down the name?" Harry asked thoughtfully.
"No, I can't spell his name. Let me just tell you—his name is Voldemort." Hagrid shivered. "Anyway, this Dark Wizard is incredibly powerful. Most wizards don't dare say his name directly, and just use that nickname instead."
"So where is he now?" Harry took a deep breath.
A grievance always has its source. His parents' deaths—he, as their son, must take revenge!
But Harry noticed that Hagrid's expression turned odd in a split second.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Uh, You-Know-Who is already dead." Hagrid reached out and rubbed Harry's head again. "On that night ten years ago, he tried to kill you, but you... um, I don't really know how, but anyway, he couldn't do it, and he just... poof."
At this, Hagrid spread his hands, making a fireworks gesture.
Hearing this answer, Harry's expression turned equally strange.
This powerful Dark Wizard, single-handedly defeated by a baby?
He'd psyched himself up, ready to get revenge on the Dark Wizard, yet—this revenge had already been... sixteen... no, ten years ago? Settled?
And it was settled by his own hand...
The feeling was like winding up for a punch and hitting cotton instead.
"So he's dead?" Harry asked.
"Everyone thinks he's dead. Someone that evil, not showing up for ten years, he must be gone." Hagrid made a fist, and pounded his thigh twice. "But I don't think so. People like him, they don't die that easily. He's definitely hiding somewhere no one knows, waiting for the right moment to make trouble again."
Harry nodded knowingly, then asked, "So, Hagrid, how powerful is this Dark Wizard you mentioned?"
"How powerful?" Hagrid looked at Harry as if he were an alien. "Ha, how powerful... Back when he was alive, he had a huge crowd of followers. Some wanted to get stronger, others were just scared. Anyway—that era was tough, you had no idea who to trust. That guy roamed the Magic World, slaughtering wizards left and right, making everyone nervous—but there's one place he never dared enter, and that's Hogwarts—"
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Why?" Hagrid repeated, then suddenly looked proud. "Because Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard alive. No matter how rampant You-Know-Who was, he didn't dare provoke him!"
Harry nodded with understanding. Looks like the principal... was not nearly as annoying as Phineas Black.
"So this Vol—" Just as Hagrid tensed at the "Vol" syllable, Harry hurried to correct himself, "Sorry, I meant You-Know-Who. When You-Know-Who was at the height of his power, did he kill a lot of wizards?"
"Yeah, that sure was a dark time." Hagrid shuddered. "Hundreds of wizards died by his hand."
Hearing that number, Harry frowned slightly, nodded in a noncommittal way.
"Hmm, what about the next day?"
Hagrid: "Huh?"
Realizing he may have misspoken, Harry quickly corrected himself, "No, I mean, why didn't Principal Dumbledore step in to stop You-Know-Who?"
"Dumbledore did form an organization to fight You-Know-Who and his followers—"
At this point, the train had stopped.
Hagrid cut off his story, packed up the tent, and said to Harry, "I think we should get off now, since the train is in London."
When getting off, Harry listened to Hagrid grumble about how the ticket gate at the London station was way too narrow, and also how slow the train was.
Harry felt the same. Hogwarts Express was much faster than this old timer's underground train.
Hagrid, so big and tall, led Harry out through the crowded platform, walking towards their destination.
It was Harry's first time in London—or to be exact, London in 1991. He'd gone to Victorian Era London with classmates before.
Tall buildings lined the streets, traffic bustling, all so completely different from the Victorian Era a hundred years ago.
Harry was intrigued, being dragged along by Hagrid, while also looking around, trying to take in the city view.
It was all a bit surreal, after all, just last month he'd gone to London with his classmates.
For Harry, just a month had passed; for the city of London, it had been a full century.
"Alright, this is the place."
Hagrid interrupted Harry's nostalgia, pointing at a grubby, cramped pub ahead. "Leaky Cauldron Bar, a very famous spot."
Meanwhile, a few stylish young people walked past behind them, laughing and chatting, completely oblivious to Hagrid and the pub.
Logically, someone as big as Hagrid should attract attention, especially from Muggles.
Yet these people gave Hagrid not a glance, which made no sense.
It's the Muggle-Repelling Charm, Harry thought to himself.
Then Hagrid pushed him into the pub.
Leaky Cauldron Bar—Harry had been here plenty of times. This bar was founded by Daisy Dodridge around 1500. She was also its first owner.
She made it a gateway between the non-magical world and Diagon Alley. It had not only a bar for drinks, but rooms upstairs for rent.
The last time Harry came, he heard the Muggle Government was planning to build Charing Cross Street, and according to early plans, the bar would be demolished.
At the time, Minister of Magic Faris Spavin thought this was Leaky Cauldron Bar's final fate and did nothing to save it.
Just days before returning to 1991, he'd heard his classmates talking, eager to band their families together to pressure the Ministry to save the pub.
Omnius had told him privately it was all pointless, but Harry still signed the petition anyway.
Now, it seemed, the bar had survived.