THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS
know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or
witches . . . terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ’Course,
some stood up to him — an’ he killed ’em. Horribly. One o’ the
only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only
one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the
school, not jus’ then, anyway.
“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever
knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the mys-
t’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side be-
fore . . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter
want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.
“Maybe he thought he could persuade ’em . . . maybe he just
wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the
village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You
was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ — an’ —”
Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief
and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.
“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s that sad — knew yer mum an’ dad, an’
nicer people yeh couldn’t find — anyway . . .
“You-Know-Who killed ’em. An’ then — an’ this is the real
myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a
clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But
he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer
forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a
powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad
an’ yer house, even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer
famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no
one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards
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