Ten-year-old Harry Potter followed Hagrid out of the isolated cabin, leaving his aunt, uncle, and cousin dumbstruck. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the small boat that he and Hagrid were to take to the mainland. “Wow!” Harry thought to himself. “I can’t believe I’m a wizard!” The news that Hagrid had just revealed to him was starting to sink in. “This is so cool! I bet I can do all sorts of neat stuff! Like… steal from the toy store! With my mind. Or, um, maybe time-travel! Like the guy in Clockstoppers. Heck, I bet I could even use magic to make my own sequel to Clockstoppers! Maybe the villain could be a talking dog this time. Oh, wow! Look out, world: here comes a whole new Harry Potter!” Harry took a seat in the front of the boat, and soon, with the help of Hagrid’s trusty, magical umbrella, they were heading towards London.
“Where are we going, Hagrid?” Harry asked.
“To tha wizardin’ world. We’re gon’ta buy you some wizardin’ stuffs so as you can do magic!” Hagrid let out a hearty laugh, rubbing his big old belly. He clapped a hand on Harry’s back and gave the boy a reassuring squeeze. “Yar gon’ta love the wizardin’ world, Harry. Ah just know it.”
“Oh boy!” Harry said. He could hardly contain his excitement. No longer would he be the victim of his uncle’s cruelty. “Nobody’d better mess with Harry Potter the wizard,” he happily muttered. Finally, they reached the shore, and were soon walking at a brisk place towards the centre of town. Hagrid pointed to a dilapidated pub. “Tha’s the mag’cal entrance to the wizardin’ world,” he said. Passing the main entrance of the pub, he lead Harry to the back of the building where a set of stairs carpeted in broken glass lead up to a small door. “Wow!” thought Harry Potter. “There really is a super-secret wizard world!” He watched as Hagrid pulled a large key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
Harry leapt over the threshold in excitement, expecting a warm greeting from his new magical brethren. Instead, he saw a dark, damp room with a small table in the corner and some old newspapers strewn around. A stale, metallic scent filled Harry’s nostrils. This didn’t look like a secret magical world.
Harry wondered if there was a password, or some sort of secret dance that he and Hagrid needed to do. He was about to turn to ask, when he suddenly felt a sharp knock on the back of his head. Before he lost consciousness, Harry sensed the pungent taste of blood filling his mouth. The boy’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
Hagrid lowered his blood-splattered umbrella. He felt the usual rush of the excitement of murder, but still he knew that its effect on him had decreased over the years. “Poor, stupid children,” Hagrid muttered to himself. “So eager to believe. It works every time.”
He stared at Harry’s small corpse for another moment. There would be time for harvesting the organs later. Now, he was tired. Hagrid walked over to his small writing desk, took out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to compose a letter to a Davey Talbot, of 236 Pennywinkle Lane. As he wrote, he practiced the words he would soon recite yet again, reverting back to the harmless fool’s speech he used just for this purpose. “Yar a wizard, Daveh. Yar a wizard.”