10:30 a.m.—half an hour to departure.
Theo and the Grangers reached King's Cross. The moment they stepped inside, Theo's eyes picked out wizarding families at a glance. They tried to blend in, sure, but the robes, the hats, the way they moved—like lightbulbs in the dark.
Unlike the cheerful bustle the original timeline promised, the adults all wore the same anxious look. Yesterday's Gringotts incident was already everywhere. The worst dark-arts attack in eleven years, rumours of an Unforgivable, nearly costing a crowd of first-years their lives—no wonder nerves were frayed.
What kind of dark wizard breaches Gringotts?
Is he back?
The thought hung over the platform like a storm cloud, souring what should have been a happy day.
Theo's gaze flickered. In the books, Voldemort's "return" was Year Five—and Fudge smothered the truth so hard the whole country paid for it when the Death Eaters walked right through the door. Fudge: not a Death Eater, yet more useful to them than most Death Eaters. Irony, meet pedestal.
But this life was already skewed by Theo's ripples. People were worried now. If Voldemort did come back, maybe a wised-up Ministry wouldn't fold on day one.
While Theo mulled that over, Mr and Mrs Granger were busy with a different problem.
"Hermione, which platform are you boarding from?"
They trusted Hermione with everything—tickets, packing, timetables. Still, when she said the number, both parents blinked and raised their voices despite themselves.
"Nine and Three-Quarters? Since when does King's Cross have that?!"
Coincidentally, the same conversation was playing out a few steps away with a bustling red-haired family: a short, plump mum, four red-haired boys, and a little red-haired girl in tow.
The Weasleys, obviously.
"Right then, what's the platform?" Mrs Weasley asked.
Theo arched a brow, amused. He'd wondered in his past life how Mrs Weasley could possibly "forget" the platform number after so many runs. The answer came clear as he followed her gaze to a skinny boy in hand-me-down clothes and cracked glasses: Harry Potter—lost as a lamb.
She wasn't asking her kids; she was giving Harry a way to overhear without embarrassment.
Percy answered first, dutiful and puzzled. "Nine and Three-Quarters."
Harry didn't seem to notice. So she asked Fred and George. Same answer. Still nothing from Harry. She asked Ron. Then finally Ginny, whose piping voice carried just enough for Harry—and several other bewildered first-year families—to drift closer.
No wonder the Weasleys had friends everywhere. And no wonder Harry grew to love them like his own.
The Grangers, having heard, hurried over with Theo and Hermione to ask for help. Harry, afraid to miss anything, quickened his steps too.
After quick introductions, the Grangers stared, wide-eyed.
"You… run through the barrier?"
"Good heavens—how did we never notice anyone doing that?"
Harry all but sagged in relief. Thank Merlin—no St Brutus's stone wall comprehensive for him this year.
He glanced at Theo and did a double-take—something familiar. A TV segment? It clicked.
"Theo? You're that literary prodigy?"
Theo smiled. "That's Muggle-world business. I'm a Hogwarts first-year too." He offered a hand.
Harry shook it like he'd been handed a royal decree. "My aunt and uncle love your books—well, they buy every edition and keep a whole bookshelf—okay, they don't read them, forget I said that. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. Er—Hagrid mentioned you, actually."
"That makes two of us," Theo grinned. "He was my guide as well. Fate, eh? This is Hermione Granger, and these are Mr and Mrs Granger."
Harry lit up. If the train weren't leaving soon, he might have happily chatted away the next half hour.
Just then he noticed Mrs Weasley watching him with watery eyes. He faltered. "Ma'am?"
She dabbed quickly and gave him the smile of a mother seeing one more of her own off to school. "Nothing, dear. May I call you Harry? Hagrid and I go back—and now you and I do, too. I've many thanks I'd like to say, but time is short."
Harry looked baffled. Theo wasn't. In the first war, the Order of the Phoenix had bled for every inch. The MacKinnons, the Bones family—some names wiped out to the last. The Prewett brothers had stood their ground to the end. Before she was a Weasley, Molly had been Molly Prewett—those heroes were her brothers. With that lineage and training, her magic could match any duellist; in the end she'd drop Bellatrix Lestrange herself.
Harry's survival had given her brothers' deaths a kind of justice. Of course she loved him at first sight.
But this was not the place to unbox the past. Mrs Weasley clapped briskly. "Time! Through the barrier now. Harry, Theo, Hermione—don't be afraid, straight on, and don't stop. Off you go—Ron, you follow them."
Ron looked at the trio walking ahead, animated and easy already. A strange feeling crept over him.
Why do they look like a tight trio?
Why does it feel… like I'm missing something?
He was still blinking when Theo caught his sleeve and smiled.
"Ron? Don't zone out. Come on—we need a four-seater before they're all gone! Worst case, we ride the roof and catch a chill.
Keep up!"
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