While Harry was deep in thought, Hagrid continued answering his barrage of questions.
"…Over the past few decades, the persecution in the wizarding world has really just been about pure-bloods and half-bloods targeting wizards from Muggle families…"
Hagrid caught himself, realizing he'd said too much. He shouldn't be discussing such heavy topics with a child. He ought to focus on the brighter side of the magical world.
Less fighting and killing—more love. That's what the wizarding world should be about.
Hagrid was starting to understand Professor Dumbledore's perspective. Talking to a kid about hatred felt wrong. He should be sharing the wonderful things instead.
Of course, he had no idea that Harry had already painted Hogwarts as some kind of demonic stronghold in his mind.
"In short, Hogwarts is a great place," Hagrid said, though even he felt his words lacked conviction.
Scratching his head, he added, "I'm sure after some training, you'll become an excellent wizard. You're already an impressive kid—I can't even keep up with you! But learning more magic, brewing potions, and raising adorable magical creatures is always worthwhile…
Magic isn't about fighting and killing. It's about love.
Oh, and the letter! I reckon it's time you took a look at it."
Harry considered this. Learning magic did seem like a good opportunity. Combat magic was one thing, but practical, everyday magic could improve his quality of life. If he ever ended up back in the medieval world or the realm of A Song of Ice and Fire, magic would definitely come in handy.
He finally reached for the letter he'd been curious about since before his (time-travel). Thanks to Uncle Vernon's interference, he'd never had the chance to open it.
It was a pale yellow envelope, addressed in emerald-green ink:
To Mr. Harry Potter, The Hut on the Rock, The Sea
He pulled out the letter and began to read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)
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
The moment he saw "Hogwarts," Harry's reasons for attending multiplied.
A spark of inspiration hit him. He could sense it—Hogwarts was a place where he could rack up achievements and earn attribute points.
In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he'd followed this same instinct to take part in major events. Now, back in this strangely named "Harry Potter" world, he had a gut feeling that Hogwarts was the nexus of destiny for the next few years. There were definitely attribute points to be gained there.
Harry had a million questions, his long-dormant intellect now firing on all cylinders. He wasn't sure where to start. After a moment, he asked, "What do they mean by 'await your owl'?"
"Galloping Gorgons, that's right!" Hagrid exclaimed.
In the short time since their scuffle, Hagrid had nearly fully recovered, and he slapped his forehead with enough force to knock over a sturdy horse—though, to be fair, Harry hadn't gone all out, and Hagrid's recovery speed was downright unnatural.
He rummaged in his waist pouch and pulled out an owl, a long quill, and a roll of parchment.
Biting his tongue in concentration, Hagrid scribbled a note. Harry, reading it upside down, caught the words:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Gave the letter to Harry. He's incredibly strong.
Can't believe he's only eleven and already this exceptional.
Taking him shopping for his supplies tomorrow. Weather's awful.
Yours, Hagrid.
Hagrid rolled up the note, tucked it into the owl's beak, and strode to the door. He released the owl into the stormy night.
Then he returned and sat down as if this were as routine as making a phone call.
Harry nodded, piecing it together. So, owls were this world's equivalent of ravens.
In A Song of Ice and Fire, maesters' ravens could only travel between fixed castles and risked getting lost. The Green Seer's ravens had special abilities, like speaking in bird tongues or even glimpsing the consciousness of the dead. Wizards' owls in this world were clearly superior to maesters' ravens—capable of tracking, likely faster, and perhaps imbued with a faint trace of magic, maybe 0.1 on the scale. But since they carried handwritten letters, they probably couldn't transmit consciousness directly.
"Right, I think I get Hogwarts now," Harry said. "So, can we talk about my parents? Aunt Petunia always said they died in a car crash, but today I learned that's not true?"
"A car crash!" Hagrid snorted, clearly outraged. "A car crash couldn't harm Lily and James Potter! That's slander! Pure defamation!"
"But why? How did they die? Give me the details—who did it?"
Harry's anger burned hotter than Hagrid's, though a storm was already brewing beneath his calm exterior.
Whoever was responsible, Harry swore he'd find them and kill them.
The fury on Hagrid's face faded, replaced by anxious unease.
"I never expected it'd come to this," he said in a low, troubled tone. "Dumbledore warned me it might be tricky finding you, since there's so much you don't know. Oh, Harry, I'm not sure I'm the right person to tell you—but someone's got to."
"Alright, I'll tell you everything I know—though not the whole story, because a lot of it's still a mystery…"
He sat down. "It started with a wizard named—well, you wouldn't know him, but it's hard to believe. Everyone in our world knows his name…"
"Who? Give me his name—" Harry's voice was flat, but inside, he'd already sentenced this person to death.
He'd twist their skull off and use it as a bowl.
"Look, unless it's absolutely necessary, I don't want to say his name. No one does."
"Why not?"
"Gulping gargoyles, Harry, people are still terrified. It's tough. There was this wizard who… went bad. Really bad. As bad as it gets. His name was…"
Hagrid swallowed hard, unable to get the words out.
"Can you write it down?" Harry prompted.
"No—I can't spell it. Alright—his name was Voldemort."
Hagrid shivered. "Don't make me say it again. Anyway, this… this wizard, about twenty years ago, started gathering followers. And he got them—some out of fear, others wanting to learn his power, because his magic was growing stronger every day.
Those were dark times, Harry. You didn't know who to trust, couldn't get too friendly with strange wizards… awful things happened.
Some stood against him, and he killed them all.
It was brutal. The only safe place back then was Hogwarts. That Dark Wizard was terrified of Dumbledore. He wouldn't dare touch the school, not back then."
"Sounds terrifying," Harry said, his voice devoid of emotion. He committed the name Voldemort to memory—that bastard.
————
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