Hangover at The Leaky Cauldron

The day after returning from Hogwarts, Quirrell moved out of 36 Hall Street and into room 11 at The Leaky Cauldron on Diagon Alley.

Old Tom welcomed his arrival warmly—a Hogwarts professor residing there was great publicity for the pub.

"Drinks are on me tonight," he said to Voldemort.

"Hey, Old Tom, don't play favorites," a patron nearby chimed in after hearing this.

"You're not the one. You could drink my pub dry, but Quirrell is different," Old Tom looked at Voldemort. "I know his tolerance isn't high, hahaha..."

His honest thoughts drew laughter from the crowd, and Voldemort shook his head with a smile.

"Not tonight."

Once the laughter subsided, Voldemort said, "I'm treating Hagrid tonight. He can drink your pub dry too."

Upon hearing this, Old Tom quickly nodded, "Treating doesn't count. Hagrid is the heaviest drinker I've ever seen; I can't afford to treat him."

The crowd burst into laughter again. Amidst the laughter, Voldemort went upstairs.

Room 11 at The Leaky Cauldron had a bed, a table and chairs, a fireplace, and a talking mirror.

Voldemort naturally wouldn't keep the gossiping mirror and had Old Tom remove it immediately, making the room a bit more spacious.

Back in his room, Voldemort immediately took out a small silver vial from a trunk enchanted with the Extension Charm.

He uncorked it and took a small sip. Soon, his body began to contort, quickly transforming into a different appearance.

"Quirrell, Apparate. Target: Eeylops Owl Emporium on Diagon Alley," Voldemort commanded in his mind.

"As you wish, Voldemort."

Quirrell said, turning around and instantly vanishing from his spot.

Eeylops Owl Emporium on Diagon Alley.

"I'm not buying a pet, I just need to mail a letter."

Voldemort's words significantly dampened the clerk's enthusiasm, but he still led Voldemort to the back room, where many owls with less appealing appearances were kept.

"I think I know how to mail it," Voldemort said, gesturing for the clerk to leave.

"Ah... okay." The clerk, taken aback, politely departed.

Voldemort then took out a thin letter from his pocket and tied it to an owl's leg.

"To Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England."

After whispering the address into the owl's ear, Voldemort had Quirrell Apparate away.

The Leaky Cauldron, evening.

"Dedalus, I must apologize to you."

Voldemort slurred, "I was a bit impulsive that day. You know, people coming back from the Forbidden Forest aren't usually in the best temper."

Dedalus Diggle, the man who bet Quirrell wouldn't leave the Forbidden Forest alive, was now flushed and drunk.

Facing Voldemort's apology, he waved his hands, reeking of alcohol, "I don't mind. Quirrell, once I left The Leaky Cauldron, I forgot about it. You don't need to keep it in mind either."

Voldemort nodded and was about to say something when a large hand landed on his shoulder—it was Hagrid. He was also drunk, but clearly not as muddled as the others.

"Quirrell, you can completely trust Dedalus. He's one of us," Hagrid said, winking at Dedalus.

"One of us? What do you mean?" asked another Wizard at the table named Cordelia, his face red.

Voldemort also looked at Hagrid with a puzzled expression—he knew Hagrid was referring to the Order of the Phoenix, but he wouldn't reveal it.

"One of us."

Hagrid thumped his chest, "Pah pah," then leaned down, speaking in a voice he thought was quiet, "We all listen to Dumbledore. It's our honor."

Everyone else, including Voldemort, looked at Dedalus in surprise. His reputation wasn't great; people thought he was a fool, but unexpectedly...

"I've always been low-key," Dedalus said proudly. "But when Headmaster Dumbledore needs something, I'm always the first person he thinks of."

This is bragging, but it's exactly what I need... Voldemort feigned surprise, then cast a questioning glance at Hagrid.

Earlier, while drinking, Hagrid had said he was the most trusted by Dumbledore.

"No, Dedalus, you can't say that,"

Hagrid fell for it. He said excitedly, "Dumbledore entrusts the most important matters to me."

"Impossible, it must be me, Hagrid, you can't lie." Dedalus was clearly drunk. He had completely forgotten that he was a peripheral figure in the Order of the Phoenix.

"Alright, then tell me, who delivered Harry to his aunt's house?"

Faced with Hagrid's challenge, Dedalus clearly couldn't answer.

"Never mind that, let's drink, drink," Voldemort raised his glass, seemingly trying to ease the awkwardness, but he cast a dismissive glance at Dedalus.

Everyone else raised their glasses with Voldemort, including Hagrid, whose mug was as large as a fish tank. But Dedalus didn't. He saw the dismissive look from Voldemort, which filled him with resentment.

"Yes, Hagrid, I admit it was you," Dedalus said angrily. "But that was more than ten years ago. Now you're just the gamekeeper."

He was clearly drunk. When he mentioned "gamekeeper," contempt was evident on his face.

"Bang."

Hagrid slammed the fish-tank-sized mug onto the table, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub.

"Nothing happened," Voldemort said, slurring his words. "Everyone carry on, carry on."

The pub became lively again, but their table remained quiet until Hagrid spoke.

"I received a secret order from Dumbledore," he said proudly. "He told me to be responsible for bringing Harry back to the wizarding world, and to retrieve something from Gringotts..."

He stopped at the crucial part, as if remembering something, and took a swig of beer.

But the others' curiosity had been piqued, and they wouldn't let it go just because he stopped talking.

"What are you going to Gringotts for? Hagrid, tell us," Cordelia asked loudly, his eyes blurry with drink.

"I can't say, it's Dumbledore's orders to me..." Hagrid's words were cut off before he could finish.

"The Philosopher's Stone from vault 713? Good heavens, Dumbledore asked you to..." Voldemort's words were fast and hurried, and somewhat unclear. In the end, he clapped a hand over his own mouth.

"What stone?" Cordelia was still asking, but his head was already dipping into his mug.

"How did you know?" Hagrid said, his voice low and urgent. "You shouldn't have said that."

"I just spoke without thinking, heavens!" Voldemort grabbed his mug and took a large gulp. He then turned to the others, "You didn't hear anything, did you?"

"Didn't hear a thing. Say that again, Quirrell, what stone?" Cordelia asked again.

The others also looked at him curiously. It was clear that Voldemort had spoken too quickly and too vaguely. Except for Hagrid, who knew the specifics, everyone else was completely confused.

"Nothing at all. We're not going home until we're drunk!" Voldemort said, raising his mug again. While everyone was drinking, he leaned towards Hagrid and said, "Drink more, make everyone forget everything."

Hagrid nodded in agreement. He then picked up his terrifyingly large mug and clinked it with everyone else's repeatedly.

That night, Hagrid stumbled his way out. Voldemort was helped back to his room by Old Tom, while the others slept right at the table.

For these drunkards, this was a normal occurrence. If Old Tom helped them to their rooms to rest, they wouldn't pay for the room the next day.