Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

"Yes, oh, by Merlin's saggy pants..." Hagrid sighed wistfully. "Even after all this time, people still shudder at the thought. That man was so utterly evil. His name was..."

However, as he reached this point, he swallowed hard and couldn't bring himself to say another word.

"Maybe... we could write the name down?" Harry suggested helpfully.

"No, I can't spell it. Let me just tell you—it's Voldemort." Hagrid shivered. "This dark wizard was incredibly powerful. Most wizards don't dare mention his name and instead use... you know, that title."

"Where is he now?" Harry took a deep breath.

Justice must be served. The death of his parents—he, their son, had to avenge it!

But Harry noticed that Hagrid's expression suddenly turned odd.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uh... the Dark Lord is dead." Hagrid reached out to ruffle Harry's hair again. "On that night ten years ago, he tried to kill you, but you... well, I don't know what happened exactly. Anyway, he couldn't kill you, and instead, he... poof."

At this point, Hagrid spread his arms wide, mimicking the motion of fireworks.

Hearing this, Harry's face also took on a peculiar expression.

Such a powerful dark wizard, defeated by a baby?

He had built up so much determination to seek vengeance against this dark wizard, only to find out—the score had been settled ten years ago?

By his own hands, no less...

It felt like preparing a punch with full strength, only for it to land on a pillow.

"So he's dead?" Harry asked.

"Everyone thinks so. Someone as wicked as him—if he hasn't caused trouble for ten years, he must be dead." Hagrid clenched his fist and lightly punched his thigh. "But I don't think so. Someone like him wouldn't die so easily. He must be hiding somewhere, waiting for the right moment to resurface."

Harry nodded thoughtfully and then asked, "So, Hagrid, how powerful was this dark wizard?"

"Powerful?" Hagrid looked at Harry as if he were an alien. "Ha! In his prime, he gathered a massive following. Some joined him to gain power; others out of fear. Those were truly dark times. You didn't know whom to trust. He killed wizards left and right, spreading terror across the magical world. But there was one place he never dared to enter—Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Why?" Hagrid repeated, and his expression turned proud. "Because Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world. No matter how powerful the Dark Lord was, he wouldn't dare provoke him!"

Harry nodded in understanding. It seemed this headmaster... wasn't as obnoxious as Phineas Nigellus Black.

"So, this Vold—" Seeing Hagrid's nervous expression at the mere mention of the name, Harry quickly corrected himself, "Sorry, I mean the Dark Lord. During his reign of terror, did he kill many wizards?"

"Yes, it was a dark, dark time," Hagrid said with a shiver. "He killed hundreds of wizards."

Hearing the number, Harry frowned slightly and nodded pensively.

"Um, and the next day?"

Hagrid: "Huh?"

Realizing his slip, Harry quickly rephrased. "I mean, why didn't Headmaster Dumbledore stop the Dark Lord?"

"Dumbledore formed an organization to fight against him and his followers—"

At this point, the train came to a halt, cutting off Hagrid's words.

"Well, I think we should get off now," Hagrid said, packing up the tent. "We've arrived in London."

As they disembarked, Hagrid grumbled about how narrow the ticket barriers were and how slow the train was.

Harry agreed. After all, the Hogwarts Express was much faster than this old subway.

Towering over the crowd, Hagrid led Harry out of the station, walking toward their destination.

For Harry, this was his first time in London—or more precisely, the London of 1991. He had visited Victorian-era London with his classmates, though.

Skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the streets buzzed with traffic. Everything was vastly different from the Victorian London he had known.

Harry found it refreshing. As Hagrid led him forward, he kept glancing around, trying to take in the cityscape.

It all felt surreal, especially since just last month, he had been wandering through London with his classmates.

For Harry, it had only been a month. For London, however, a full century had passed.

"Here we are," Hagrid interrupted Harry's musings, pointing to a small, grimy pub. "The Leaky Cauldron. A famous spot."

Meanwhile, a group of trendy young people walked past them, chatting excitedly. They paid no attention to Hagrid or the pub at all.

Logically, someone as massive as Hagrid should have drawn their eyes, especially from Muggles.

But none of them seemed to notice him, which was downright strange.

Must be a Muggle-repelling charm, Harry thought.

Then Hagrid nudged him into the pub.

The Leaky Cauldron was a place Harry had visited many times before. Founded around the 1500s by Daisy Dodderidge, it served as a passage between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley.

Aside from its bar, the pub also had rooms upstairs for rent.

During his last visit, he had heard rumors that the Muggle government was planning to build Charing Cross Road, which would demolish the pub.

The then-Minister for Magic, Faris Spavin, had resigned himself to this "inevitable fate," taking no action to save it.

Just days before his return to 1991, Harry had heard classmates rallying their families to pressure the Ministry into preserving the pub.

Even Ominis privately remarked it was a pointless effort, but Harry still signed the petition.

Looking at it now, the pub had survived.