The station was packed with rushing people, noisy trolleys, and loud announcements.
Harry Potter stood between Platforms Nine and Ten, holding tightly to his trolley. Hedwig's cage rattled slightly as the snowy owl shifted, and Harry looked again at the ticket clutched in his hand.
Platform 9¾.
He was sure it was a mistake. He had walked up and down the platform twice. There was no such thing.
Then he heard it.
"Packed with Muggles, of course," said a kind voice nearby.
He turned and saw a family with bright red hair, all carrying trunks and cages of their own. One of the younger boys looked as nervous as Harry felt.
Harry stepped forward."Excuse me," he asked the woman. "Could you tell me how to—how to get onto the platform?"
She smiled kindly. "Not to worry, dear. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."
Harry watched as one by one, the red-haired children vanished through the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Now it was his turn.
He took a breath, pushed the trolley forward, and broke into a run.
The moment he touched the wall, everything changed. The noise, the light, the world around him—all twisted into something new. Then suddenly, he stood in front of a huge red steam engine beneath a glass roof.
The Hogwarts Express.
It was real.
The train was crowded, but Harry managed to find an empty seat near the middle. A few minutes later, the red-haired boy from before entered his compartment.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked.
Harry shook his head, and the boy smiled. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."
That was the beginning.
They shared snacks, stories, and nervous jokes. Ron had a hand-me-down wand and a rat named Scabbers. Harry had never had a friend before, but this felt right—simple and good.
For the first time in his life, Harry didn't feel alone.
The back door of the train opened with a hiss of steam.
Cronos Greywood stepped on board, long coat brushing the floor, boots quiet on the metal steps. His eyes—blue, sharp—swept across the train as he entered.
He looked like a man slightly out of place. Too calm. Too precise.
A dark-blue cloak hung over his shoulders, and a silver monocule gleamed on his right eye—not tied with string, not charmed to stay. It simply was.
Through that single lens, the world shimmered differently.
He saw ripples—soft distortions in the air where time had bent, or threatened to. Echoes of magic that hadn't settled. Moments not quite real.
Most people don't notice when time shifts, he thought.But Cronos did.
He moved through the corridor slowly, passing compartments filled with laughing children and noisy pets. His hand brushed the wall as he walked—old instinct. This train hadn't changed. Not in sound. Not in smell.
He stopped outside a compartment halfway down.
Inside sat a boy with round glasses and a lightning-shaped scar, smiling as he spoke to a red-haired boy. Next to them, a girl with bushy brown hair was talking animatedly. The air shimmered faintly around the three of them.
There you are, Cronos thought. Harry Potter. Right on time.
He didn't stare long. Just enough to see that the moment had locked. That things were still moving according to plan.
But for how long?
Cronos made his way to the front, to the staff carriage.
It was empty, quiet, and warm. He took a seat by the window and removed a thin leather notebook from his coat.
He flipped it open and began to write:
Timeline 01-ASept 1— Harry meets Ron on train— Monocle: minor ripple detected— No immediate anomaly— Personal state: alert— Dumbledore's invitation accepted— Goal: Observe. Do not interfere (yet)
He set the notebook down and looked out the window. The hills passed by, slow and steady.
And for a moment, his reflection in the glass showed not just his face—but something older. Someone else.
It's strange, he thought, to ride the same train twice.
Years ago, he had sat in this very train, a first-year in Ravenclaw robes, filled with questions and wonder. He had eaten chocolate frogs, shared a cabin with loud, curious boys, and stared at the ceiling of the Great Hall in awe.
But that was before he remembered.
Before he knew what the timeline would become.
Now he returned as a professor of Temporal and Spacial Theories—a subject Hogwarts hadn't taught in over a century.
"They think I'm here to teach," Cronos said quietly to himself
His monocle pulsed faintly—once.
Something had changed. Not broken—just shifted.
Cronos leaned back in his seat, folded his arms, and closed his eyes.
"The river's still calm," he murmured."But the current is starting to turn."