"Listen, big man," Tyler said, his hoarse voice cutting through the tense silence of the Leaky Cauldron. "Don't try to throw your weight around in front of me. I find it very irritating."
The pub had gone so quiet that the faint crackle of the fireplace seemed too loud. Tyler stood in his black robe with his hood lowered over his face, while Hagrid loomed between him and Harry like a furious wall of muscle and hair.
"Now move aside," Tyler continued. "Let me have a proper conversation with Mr. Harry Potter."
"You rotten Dark wizard!" Hagrid roared. His voice shook the dusty bottles behind the bar, and several witches flinched in their seats. "Stay away from Harry! Don't you dare try to hurt him!"
Hagrid swung one enormous fist straight at Tyler. It was the size of a ham and carried enough force to break bone if it landed, but Tyler did not retreat.
"Expelliarmus!"
Tyler lifted one hand and pointed forward. A brilliant red flash shot out instantly, striking Hagrid in the chest with a force that seemed far beyond an ordinary Disarming Charm.
Boom!
Hagrid's huge body flew backward and crashed through several tables. Wood splintered, mugs shattered, and a few unlucky wizards were knocked aside by the wreckage, crying out as butterbeer and broken chairs scattered across the floor.
Screams erupted at once. The Leaky Cauldron turned chaotic, with witches scrambling away from overturned tables and wizards staring at Tyler in open horror.
No one stepped forward. The man in black had just sent Hagrid flying with a casual spell, and that alone was enough to make every brave thought in the room shrink back into silence.
"Hagrid!" Harry shouted.
The boy tried to rush toward him, panic flashing across his face. Hagrid had been the first person from the wizarding world to show him real kindness, and seeing someone so huge thrown aside like a toy left Harry pale and frightened.
"Oh, don't be nervous, Harry Potter," Tyler said as he walked toward him. His voice was low and rough, but strangely calm. "I won't hurt you."
Harry turned back, breathing fast. His thin hands clenched at his sides, and he looked from the hooded stranger to Hagrid, clearly unsure whether to run, hide, or stand his ground.
"Y-you—who are you?" Harry asked. His voice shook, but he still managed to force the words out. "What do you want?"
Tyler stopped a short distance from him. Under the shadow of the hood, his disguised face showed only a faint, cold smile.
"Harry, I'm here to give you a gift," Tyler said. "It may be eleven years late, but we can count today's events as interest."
Before anyone could understand what he meant, Tyler raised his hand. "Accio wand."
A wand flew from the grip of a wizard across the room and landed neatly in Tyler's hand. He had no intention of using his own wand for what came next.
"Oh!" the wizard cried in alarm. "My wand!"
"Shut up, idiot," Tyler snapped.
"Stupefy."
A red jet of light struck the man squarely, and he dropped unconscious onto the floor before he could say another word. Several people in the pub screamed again, and those nearest to him scrambled back as if the fallen wizard might explode.
Tyler turned the stolen wand lightly between his fingers. It was not a perfect match, but for simple spellwork, it would be enough.
"Harry," he said, looking back at the boy, "since you've just entered the wizarding world, I'll teach you one thing first."
Harry stared at him, too tense to answer. Hagrid groaned from the wreckage behind him, already struggling to rise despite the tables splintered around him.
"Magic is power," Tyler said. "Nothing more, nothing less."
Then he turned sharply toward Professor Quirrell, who had frozen not far away with his face drained of color.
"Crucio!"
A curse shot from the stolen wand and flew straight toward Quirrell.
"It's an Unforgivable!" someone shrieked. "Run!"
The words broke what little nerve remained in the room. Witches and wizards recoiled in terror, because the Cruciatus Curse was one of the three Unforgivable Curses, a spell so cruel that using it on another human being earned a wizard a life sentence in Azkaban.
It did not kill quickly, nor did it leave obvious wounds when cast with restraint. Its purpose was pain, pure and direct, the kind of suffering that could shatter the mind if pushed too far. The moment Tyler used it, every adult in the pub understood that this was no ordinary troublemaker.
"Protego!" Quirrell cried.
His stammer vanished in terror. He raised his wand in time, conjuring a Shield Charm that deflected the first curse with a burst of light.
Tyler did not stop. His figure vanished with a crack, appearing at another angle before firing again.
"Crucio!"
Another crack of Apparition. Another flash of cursed light.
"Crucio!"
Tyler moved again and again, using rapid Apparition inside the cramped pub with frightening ease. Curses came from different directions, forcing Quirrell to stagger, turn, and defend himself while the watching wizards stood frozen in shock.
Apparition was dangerous enough on its own. One mistake could cause Splinching, leaving part of a wizard's body behind. Using it repeatedly in quick succession while casting spells at the same time was something very few wizards in the entire magical world could manage.
Quirrell was not one of those wizards. He was not weak by ordinary standards, but compared with Tyler's speed and aggression, his defence quickly fell apart.
A curse slipped past his shield and struck the back of his head.
"Ahhh!"
Quirrell collapsed to the floor with a terrible scream. His face twisted in agony, his limbs stiffening as the curse tore through him.
"Crucio!"
Tyler cast again, aiming at the same place. The scream rang out once more, but this time, it did not sound entirely like Quirrell.
Others in the pub could not tell the difference. Tyler could.
That scream belonged to Voldemort.
"Idiot!" Voldemort's furious voice hissed inside Quirrell's mind. "What are you doing? Run!"
Voldemort enjoyed using the Cruciatus Curse on others. That did not mean he had any desire to feel it himself.
He had no body now, and his power was far weaker than it had once been. Forced to cling to Quirrell like a parasite, he could not confront a powerful wizard head-on, especially not in a public place with his existence still hidden.
"Master, I'm sorry," Quirrell cried inwardly, terrified and aggrieved. He had no idea why a mad wizard in black robes had suddenly chosen to attack him, and worse, why that madman had opened with the Cruciatus Curse.
"Crucio!"
Tyler cast the curse one more time. This time, Quirrell could no longer endure it.
With a sharp crack, he Disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron and vanished completely.
Tyler did not stop him. Apparition was difficult to block without preparation, and besides, driving Quirrell away had already served its purpose.
His gaze turned back toward Harry. The boy had reached Hagrid's side, and Hagrid had dragged him into his arms protectively despite still looking dazed from the earlier blast.
Hagrid stared at Tyler with fierce suspicion, holding Harry close as if afraid the black-robed stranger might suddenly throw a curse at them next.
"Harry, you may not understand this yet," Tyler said. "But I think you'll appreciate this gift one day."
The pub remained silent around him. Broken tables lay scattered across the floor, and no one dared interrupt.
"Also, welcome back to the wizarding world," Tyler said. "I imagine we'll meet again in the future, so I hope you enjoy your time here."
He turned toward the bar, where old Tom had already ducked behind the counter in fright. Only the top of the landlord's head could be seen as he trembled beneath the bottles.
"Goodbye, everyone," Tyler said. "I'm terribly sorry for the disturbance, so consider your expenses today covered by me."
He took out several Galleons and tossed them onto the bar. The gold coins rang sharply against the wood.
Then Tyler turned and walked toward the back courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron.
"Confringo!"