To be honest, there wasn't much difference between the Wizarding World of 1991 and that of 1890.
At least, that was how it seemed to Glen Howard.
Though only eleven years old, he had troubles of his own as he sipped brandy.
"Sir, I'm glad you like our brandy, but you're still young. One small glass is enough," said a man whose hair had almost all fallen out and who looked like a shriveled walnut.
He was the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, where Glen was sitting.
"Alright." Glen set down his empty glass and lifted his head.
The world instantly dimmed. Every decoration and object in the bar lost its color.
The bar's owner, Tom, along with a few old women in the corner sipping sherry from small glasses and the patrons chatting at the other tables, all turned a bright, uniform blue.
Of course, the pale young man sitting a few seats away from him was no exception.
But at the back of that bright blue figure's head was a vivid red patch.
Glen had no idea what the patch actually looked like, since the trembling young man wore an enormous purple turban that covered the back of his head.
But he could be sure that the red patch was part of a Dark Wizard.
And that was what troubled Glen.
If everyone in the bar had been a Dark Wizard, all he would have had to do was curse them, pick any target, and cast "Avada Kedavra." That would have triggered an Avada Kedavra Lightning Chain, taking every Dark Wizard equally.
Easy, convenient, and satisfying.
But everyone in the room was an ordinary wizard. Taking them all out just to get rid of a fragment of a Dark Wizard was a terrible bargain.
"Honestly, Dark Wizards used to travel in packs. How come the first one I've finally found now is just a fragment?"
After all that, it turned out that if he wanted to kill a Dark Wizard in one piece, he'd have to put one together himself!
The world really had gone downhill.
At the thought, Glen sighed. "If only I had a wand right now."
Tom grinned. "You'll have one soon enough."
He'd been running the Leaky Cauldron for decades, and could tell at a glance that this young gentleman had most likely received his Hogwarts acceptance letter and was about to head into Diagon Alley to buy the things he'd need for school.
"Sir, you can have this brandy on the house. Consider it a small gift from me before you start at Hogwarts." With that, the bar owner went to greet a little man wearing a tall top hat.
Well, if the owner insisted, Glen supposed he could let it go.
He'd spare them for now... ahem, spare the Dark Wizard fragment.
Just as the world returned to its normal colors and Glen rose to leave, the bar's chatter suddenly fell silent.
Everyone turned to look toward the door.
A giant of a man, built like an actual giant, stood there beside a dark-haired, somewhat undernourished boy.
At first, people called out and invited the giant, Hagrid, over for a drink.
But someone suddenly cried out, and everyone's attention shifted from Hagrid to the boy.
"Harry Potter!"
When the bar's owner stepped forward to shake his hand, the bar suddenly turned into a kind of meet-and-greet.
Nearly every patron except Glen got to their feet, tears in their eyes, and lined up to shake hands with the boy named Harry Potter.
The queue blocked the bar and Glen's way out.
"Harry Potter." Forced to sit back down, Glen murmured the name.
It was one he'd often seen in books published in recent years: "A boy who survived an encounter with Voldemort..."
As for who Voldemort was, to be honest, Glen wasn't entirely sure.
From the nineteenth century into the twentieth, he'd spent a long time traveling the world and hadn't been in Britain.
According to Modern Magical History, Voldemort's time had been when Glen was in the homeland of the Biting Cabbage.
Still, judging by the descriptions in the books, this "Voldemort" seemed to have been an exceptionally powerful Dark Wizard.
Glen had never seen him in person, but he had to be more powerful than the Dark Wizard fragment on the young man's head.
Otherwise, how would he have made it into the textbooks, while this one ended up on someone's head?
As the handshakes went on, the pale young man stood up, looking extremely nervous. One of his eyes twitched slightly.
"Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid said. "Harry, Professor Quirrell's one of your teachers at Hogwarts..."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"Defence against the— the— the Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell stammered. He seemed to think it was better not to say too much.
At that, Glen raised an eyebrow.
Professor Quirrell? He was a Hogwarts professor? And the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, at that?
Well, then it seemed this "back of the head" was a Dark Wizard of at least passable skill...
But could he really teach students to defend themselves against Dark Magic? What was he defending them from, exactly?
This year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher seemed a bit useless.
As for the boy named Harry Potter...
Glen looked at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Revelio."
The world dimmed once more, as though all its colors had been drained away.
The wizards' bodies glowed a bright, translucent blue, while Dark Wizards shone vivid red. The scar on Harry Potter's forehead, meanwhile, blazed a striking gold.
"Blood Protection Charm?" After examining it closely for a moment, Glen spoke the name of a charm that was almost unheard of in the modern Wizarding World.
It was a powerful form of Ancient Magic. Not even "Avada Kedavra," the most powerful Dark Magic known to the world, could damage it in the slightest. It could even rebound the curse onto its caster.
Books and newspapers knew nothing about it. They could only keep repeating that it was a miracle.
Still, one couldn't blame them for their lack of knowledge.
A baby surviving at the hands of a Dark Wizard was indeed a miracle.
And a trace of Ancient Magic appearing again a century after it had all ended was a miracle, too.
As a fifth-year transfer student at Hogwarts a century ago, and the last guardian of Ancient Magic, Glen Howard had insisted, before setting off on his travels around the world, that the Ministry of Magic erase every record of him and of Ancient Magic.
The Minister for Magic at the time had been reluctant, but after Glen went to see him in person, he'd been understanding enough to have the records deleted.
But now Ancient Magic had appeared again, exactly one year after Glen's supposed death.
Were they testing the waters because they thought he was dead?
Were they Goblins? Dark Wizards? Or old acquaintances?
Glen looked away from the scar on Harry Potter's forehead.
He didn't know how they'd feel when they found out he was still alive. But if he found them, he'd certainly be delighted.
At that thought, Glen stood up and slipped through the bar without anyone noticing.
Behind him, the handshaking with Harry Potter continued.
The bar owner gripped Harry's hand tightly. His hoarse, excited voice rang through the bar.
"It's an honor... Welcome back. Welcome back..."
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