Chapter 3: Hagrid

Hearing Hagrid's words, Harry sharply caught a detail in his speech.

"So... you knew my parents?"

Then he realized it was quite rude to keep someone standing at the door, so he invited, "Sorry, that was impolite of me, Mr. Hagrid. Please come in."

"Oh no, no, I'm far too tall; I wouldn't fit in this house," Hagrid replied, slightly embarrassed. "Besides, I need to take you to Diagon Alley. If you don't mind, we can talk on the way."

"Alright," Harry nodded. Hagrid immediately stepped aside to let Harry pass through the doorway.

It wasn't until Harry stepped outside that he realized just how tall Hagrid really was.

"Wow, you're huge," Harry said, tilting his head up, his comment coming out dry.

"You're not the first to say that, Harry. Now, let's get going—" Hagrid paused halfway through his sentence, awkwardly scratching his shaggy head. "Shouldn't we let your aunt know? She is your guardian, after all."

"I think my uncle and aunt would be delighted for you to take me away," Harry said, his tone layered with meaning.

"Really?" Hagrid asked suspiciously.

Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from inside the house, followed by a loud roar.

"Harry Potter—"

Hearing Uncle Vernon's voice, Hagrid's attention shifted, and Harry tugged on his sleeve, pointing behind him.

"Hagrid, what’s that?"

While Hagrid turned to look, Harry spun around, just in time to see Uncle Vernon charging down the stairs like a truck.

Covering his mouth with one hand, Harry focused on Uncle Vernon, muttering a spell softly under his breath.

"Confundus!"

Uncle Vernon stopped in his tracks, squinting at Harry, then at Hagrid, who was still looking away. Muttering something incomprehensible, he turned around and marched back upstairs, as if he'd suddenly remembered something.

When Hagrid finally turned back, he scratched his head in confusion. "I didn’t see anything. What did you see?"

"I must've been mistaken. I thought it was a motorbike."

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As he said this, Harry suddenly recalled a dream he’d had before. "It was like the motorbike that often appears in my dreams—the one that flies."

"Harry..." Hagrid's face lit up with delight. "You still remember! You remember how I rode a motorbike to bring you to the Dursleys'!"

Before Hagrid could finish, a rapid knocking on the window interrupted him.

Both turned to look. Uncle Vernon was outside, pointing furiously at them, his mouth moving wordlessly.

"Your uncle... what’s he doing?" Hagrid asked instinctively, sensing that Mr. Dursley’s attitude wasn’t friendly.

Harry shaded his eyes with his hand and explained, "Oh, Uncle Vernon is just telling me to be happy."

Hagrid hesitated, glancing up at Uncle Vernon, who was still angrily pointing and shouting, then looking down at Harry. "It doesn’t seem like it to me."

"Well, they’re Muggles," Harry said, his tone solemn as he wiped away invisible tears. "You know, their way of showing love is different from wizards'. After all, I lost my mom at such a young age..."

"Oh, Harry..." Hagrid leaned down compassionately and enveloped Harry in a massive hug.

Harry didn’t resist the gesture, and when Hagrid released him, he looked up and asked, "So, Hagrid, how are we going to travel?"

"Hmm... we’ll take the train. On my way here, I heard there’s a train to London from Surrey every hour," Hagrid said before asking, "By the way, Harry, did you bring the letter from school?"

Harry patted the pocket near his chest, beaming up at Hagrid. "Got it, right here!"

"Good lad," Hagrid said, his own grin broadening as he ruffled Harry’s messy hair. "You’re so much like your mother. Alright, let’s head to the station."

Hagrid’s massive frame naturally drew attention. He got stuck at the ticket barrier and later had to occupy two seats on the train.

Once they were settled, Harry broke the silence. "Hagrid, you seem to know my parents?"

"Oh, of course I do." Hagrid chuckled heartily as he worked on a bright yellow, circus-like knitted bag, which seemed to muffle his booming voice as he continued. "When they were students, I got along quite well with both of them. Especially your mother, Lily—she was Head Girl. Such a kind and gentle soul, we all adored her."

"And your father, James, was Gryffindor’s famous Quidditch Chaser and Head Boy," Hagrid reminisced, his beetle-black eyes gleaming. "A fine man, in every way... I’ve never known anyone as loyal as him."

"Really?" Harry's eyes sparkled with excitement.

For so many lonely nights, he had longed for a father’s and mother’s love. Whenever he saw Dudley spoiled by his aunt and uncle, Harry couldn’t help but wonder: if his parents had lived, would he have been cherished like that?

Not treated like an unwanted guest, enduring their disdain.

The thought made Harry furious. Rage bubbled inside him as he imagined finding the dark wizard who had orphaned him and making him pay dearly.

"Yes, Harry," Hagrid said, oblivious to Harry’s shifting emotions, lost in his memories of the Potters. "It’s such a shame... such a shame about what happened ten years ago..."

"So..." Harry's eyes flashed. "The dark wizard who killed my parents—who is he?"

Hagrid shuddered at the question. "It’s... the You-Know-Who."

"You-Know-Who?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yes, You-Know-Who," Hagrid said, coughing to mask his fear. "That dark wizard, he..."

Noticing Hagrid’s unease, Harry placed a hand on his arm, offering comfort. "Actually, I don’t need to know if it’s too hard to say..."

"Oh no, Harry," Hagrid shook his head firmly. "I can’t let you go to Hogwarts not knowing a thing."

"But unless it’s absolutely necessary, I’d rather not say his name—no one likes to."

"So everyone just calls him 'You-Know-Who'?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised again.