Harry had been desperate to read the letter. The moment he received it, he tore it open and began reading aloud.
"Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
He looked up, confused.
"Hogwarts? What kind of place is that?"
"It's… a very interesting place," Sean said with a smile. "But I think Hagrid should explain it. He's the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I'm just a student—he knows far more than I do."
Sean spoke modestly, though in truth, his understanding of Hogwarts rivaled all but Dumbledore himself.
Hagrid clearly enjoyed the introduction. He stepped forward, smiling.
"Name's Rubeus Hagrid. Truth is—we've met before. I was the one who carried you to the Dursleys when you were a baby. And I came to check on you last Christmas."
"You knew my parents?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Of course I did. They were brilliant witches and wizards."
Hagrid began recounting the story of James and Lily Potter, tearing apart every lie the Dursleys had ever told.
"What? They said your parents died in a car crash? Nonsense! Wizards don't die in car crashes!"
Sean scratched his head awkwardly. Technically, that wasn't entirely true—but he kept that to himself.
Seeing Dudley eyeing the birthday cake Hagrid had brought, Sean casually added, "I wouldn't eat that if I were you. It's poisoned."
Dudley froze instantly.
In his eyes, both Sean and Hagrid were complete lunatics—there was no telling what they might actually do. Still, he didn't question why a "poisoned" cake had been given to Harry.
Faced with Hagrid's presence, the Dursleys had no choice but to give in. That night, the three of them boarded the small boat and returned to the mainland.
At the dock, Hagrid raised his umbrella high—not casting a spell, just making a gesture.
Sean knew what he was doing.
Calling the Knight Bus.
"Uh… what's your name?" Harry asked, looking at Sean.
"Sean Grylls. Third-year Slytherin—once school starts," Sean replied.
Suddenly, a towering purple triple-decker bus came hurtling toward them, stopping abruptly in front of them.
Harry stared in shock.
The magical world was unfolding before him, piece by piece.
"That's the Knight Bus," Sean explained. "Wizard transportation. Muggles can't see it."
After paying two Galleons, they boarded. Hagrid even spent an extra Sickle to buy Harry a hot chocolate.
Sean sat beside him.
The bus sped forward violently.
Harry nearly threw up, spilling his drink everywhere.
Sean patted his back. "We're almost there."
In truth, he was saying it for himself as well. This was his first time on the Knight Bus too—but he was determined to maintain his dignity as a senior.
"Thanks," Harry said.
Sean thought to himself—
Draco really needed to learn from this.
Same pure-blood upbringing, yet completely different manners.
When he enrolls… I'll have to straighten him out.
Less than ten minutes later, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.
Sean pushed the door open first.
Old Tom immediately barked, "It's past nine-thirty! Where've you been running off to? Don't you know how busy it is today?"
"Busy, busy. Always busy," Sean muttered helplessly.
When Hagrid entered, Tom greeted him warmly.
"Drink?"
"The usual," Hagrid said, patting Harry's shoulder. "But get a room first. Sean can take the boy up."
Sean blinked.
So I do all the work while you relax?
"Harry? You mean Harry Potter?" Tom asked in shock.
The entire pub fell silent.
All eyes turned.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," said bald-headed Jamie.
"An honor."
"Glad to meet you."
Voices filled the room.
Harry was overwhelmed.
Then Sean suddenly remembered—
Quirrell.
Professor Quirrell approached, turban wrapped tightly around his head.
"An honor… to meet you, Harry…"
"Oh! I didn't see you there," Hagrid said. "This is Professor Quirrell—new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"Maybe," Sean muttered under his breath.
Harry extended his hand—
But Quirrell didn't dare shake it.
Sean knew why.
The fragment of Voldemort inside him feared the protection on Harry.
Through the Magic vision , Sean saw it clearly—
The dark aura around Quirrell was far denser than Harry's.
Harry's fragment was dormant.
Quirrell's—
Was not.
"Sean, take Harry to room 205."
Tom tossed him a key.
"Come on," Sean said.
As they went upstairs, Harry asked, "Why does everyone know me?"
"Because you're famous."
"Famous? For what?"
"You did something incredible," Sean said. "Years ago, there was a dark wizard—Voldemort. People don't even dare say his name."
"He killed anyone who opposed him. Including your parents."
Harry froze.
"But somehow… he failed when he came for you. That scar on your forehead—that's what's left."
Harry stopped walking.
Anger flickered in his eyes.
"How did I defeat him?"
"Love," Sean said quietly. "Well… more precisely, your mother cast an ancient blood protection spell on you."
He paused.
"But yes… you could call it love."
That night, Harry would have far too much to process to sleep.
Sean, however, didn't dwell on it.
Harry would learn all of this eventually anyway.
Downstairs, Quirrell awkwardly chatted with others, eager to leave.
As he turned—
A bald, dark-skinned wizard whispered behind him:
"Pathetic imitator."
Quirrell trembled.
But the one who reacted—
Wasn't Quirrell.
It was Voldemort.
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