Chapter 1: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
POV: Harry Potter
September first dawned bright and clear over Grimmauld Place, golden sunlight streaming through the ancient windows of number twelve. Harry Potter stood before the full-length mirror in his room, adjusting the collar of his new school jacket for the third time. His reflection stared back—messy black hair that refused to lie flat despite Remus's careful attempts with Sleekeazy's, bright green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and that lightning bolt scar partially hidden by his fringe.
"This is it," he thought, running his thumb over the smooth leather of his trunk's brass corners. "Eleven years of waiting, and today I finally go to Hogwarts."
The nervous flutter in his stomach wasn't fear—Sirius and Remus had prepared him too thoroughly for that. Every spell theory, every piece of Hogwarts history, every story of their own school days had been shared over dinner at this very house. No, this feeling was pure anticipation, like standing at the edge of a cliff before learning to fly.
"Harry, love, breakfast is ready!"
Portrait Lily's voice drifted down from the kitchen, where her frame had been moved for the morning so she could see him off properly. Harry grabbed his jacket and bounded down the stairs two at a time, his footsteps echoing off the old walls.
The kitchen buzzed with controlled chaos. Sirius stood at the stove, somehow managing to flip pancakes while simultaneously lecturing Kreacher about proper trunk-packing techniques. Remus sat at the scrubbed wooden table, carefully checking Harry's book list against the contents of his school bag, his graying hair catching the morning light.
"Honestly, Padfoot," Remus said without looking up, "the boy has everything. You've checked that list seventeen times."
"Eighteen," Sirius corrected, sliding a perfectly golden pancake onto Harry's plate. "And I'm his guardian. It's my job to worry."
"Your job is to feed him breakfast before we're late to King's Cross," Portrait Lily chimed in from her frame on the wall, her painted green eyes—so like Harry's own—sparkling with amusement. "Though I must say, those pancakes do look rather good."
Harry sat down and took a large bite, savoring both the taste and the familiar banter. This was home—the easy affection, the gentle teasing, the way they all looked out for each other. He'd grown up knowing he was wanted here, loved here, safe here.
"Nervous?" Remus asked quietly, setting down the book list.
"Excited," Harry replied honestly. "Maybe a little nervous about making friends, but..." He shrugged. "Neville will be there."
Sirius barked out a laugh. "Neville Longbottom is going to be the least of your friend worries, pup. You've got your father's charm and your mother's heart. People will gravitate toward you."
"Just remember," Portrait Lily said softly, "it's not about being the famous Harry Potter. It's about being yourself. The right people will appreciate that."
An hour later, they stood on the barrier between platforms nine and ten at King's Cross Station, Harry's trunk secured on a trolley beside him. The muggle commuters rushed past, completely oblivious to the magical families gathering around the seemingly solid brick wall.
"Right," Sirius said, his voice slightly hoarse. "You remember everything about the dormitories? And you've got your schedule memorized?"
"Yes, Sirius."
"And you know which professors to avoid being alone with?"
"Sirius," Remus warned gently.
"And you'll write every week?"
"Every week," Harry promised, though he was grinning now at his godfather's obvious anxiety.
Sirius pulled him into a fierce hug that smelled of leather and motorcycle oil and home.
"I'm so proud of you," Sirius whispered against Harry's hair. "Your parents would be too. You're going to do brilliant things, Harry. Just... try not to get expelled in your first week?"
"No promises," Harry said, and Sirius's laugh was watery.
Remus stepped forward when Sirius finally released him, his own embrace gentler but no less meaningful.
"Knowledge is different from wisdom," Remus said quietly, his hands on Harry's shoulders. "You've got plenty of the first. The second comes with experience and humility. Stay curious, stay kind, and stay true to yourself."
"I will," Harry said, meaning it.
Sirius reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like an old piece of parchment, folded many times. "A little something to help with the curiosity part," he said with a wink. "Don't let anyone else see it. Especially not the professors."
Harry pocketed the parchment, his curiosity already piqued, but before he could ask questions, a familiar voice called out behind them.
"Harry! Harry, over here!"
Neville Longbottom approached with his formidable grandmother Augusta beside him, his round face bright with excitement. Unlike the nervous, forgetful boy from another timeline, this Neville stood straighter, smiled wider—the product of years of friendship and encouragement.
"Gran, you remember Harry Potter," Neville said proudly.
"Of course." Augusta Longbottom's sharp eyes softened as she looked at Harry. "Your parents would be very proud, young man. And you," she turned to Sirius with something approaching approval, "have done well by him."
"We've tried," Sirius said simply.
Around them, other magical families were gathering. Harry noticed the Weasleys—a large, red-haired clan clustered around their own trolleys—and caught sight of a girl his age with bushy brown hair standing nervously beside what must be her muggle parents.
"Ready?" Neville asked, bouncing slightly on his toes.
Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and ran straight at the barrier.
The sensation of passing through the magical barrier never failed to amaze him—the slight tingle as he crossed from muggle London into the hidden platform. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters spread before him in all its chaotic glory: the scarlet Hogwarts Express releasing great puffs of steam, owls hooting in their cages, parents hugging children goodbye, and the excited chatter of young voices.
"Blimey," said a voice nearby, "it never gets old, does it?"
Harry turned to see twin red-haired boys, identical except for a small scar on one's eyebrow, grinning at him.
"You're Harry Potter," said the one with the scar. "I'm Fred Weasley."
"George Weasley," said his twin. "We've heard stories about your guardian's legendary pranks."
"All true, unfortunately," said another voice, and Harry saw an older Weasley approaching—this one with a prefect badge pinned to his robes. "Percy Weasley. Please ignore my brothers. They're a bad influence."
"The worst kind," Fred agreed cheerfully.
"Speaking of influences," George added, nudging Harry's arm, "did Sirius Black really turn the entire Slytherin common room into a swamp during his seventh year?"
Harry grinned. "You'd have to ask him. But I did notice he got very interested in gardening around the time I learned to walk."
The twins exchanged delighted looks.
"We knew we'd like you," Fred declared.
The train's whistle blew, sharp and insistent.
"On you go," Sirius said, appearing behind Harry with his trunk. "Write soon. Learn everything. Try not to follow in my footsteps too closely."
"I love you," Harry said simply, the words carrying everything he couldn't say.
"Love you too, pup. Now go make some friends."
Harry climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, found an empty compartment, and settled by the window. As the train began to move, he waved goodbye to Sirius and Remus, who stood together on the platform until the train rounded a curve and they disappeared from sight.
He was alone for perhaps ten minutes before the compartment door slid open.
"Excuse me," said a nervous voice, "everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?"
Harry looked up to see a red-haired boy about his own age, holding what appeared to be a sandwich and looking slightly overwhelmed.
"Of course," Harry said, moving his jacket to make room. "I'm Harry Potter."
The boy's eyes widened slightly, then he grinned. "Ron Weasley. Fred and George are my brothers—they mentioned meeting you on the platform."
"They seem like trouble," Harry said approvingly.
"The worst kind," Ron agreed, echoing Percy's earlier words but with obvious affection. He settled across from Harry, unwrapping his sandwich. "So... you're really him? The Boy Who Lived?"
Harry's smile didn't falter, though internally he braced himself. "I'm really me, if that's what you mean. Though I'm not sure about all the living part—jury's still out on whether I'm actually undead."
Ron blinked, then burst out laughing. "Sorry, that was stupid. It's just—you're kind of famous, aren't you? And here you are, being normal."
"I try my best," Harry said solemnly, then grinned. "Though Sirius—my guardian—would argue that normal is overrated."
"Sirius Black? Blimey, what's that like?"
Before Harry could answer, the compartment door slid open again, revealing a girl with impressive brown curls and what appeared to be the entire contents of Flourish and Blotts in her arms.
"Sorry," she said breathlessly, "but has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one."
"Neville?" Harry stood up immediately. "Where is he?"
The girl blinked in surprise. "You know him? He's three compartments down, looking frantic. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."
"Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley. Let's go find Trevor—that's his toad's name."
They found Neville indeed looking frantic, searching under seats with increasing desperation.
"Harry!" Neville's face lit up with relief. "Trevor's gotten out again. Gran will kill me if I lose him before we even get to school."
"No she won't," Harry said confidently, "but let's find him anyway. Hermione, you said you've read Hogwarts: A History?"
"Cover to cover," Hermione said proudly. "Twice."
"Any mention of summoning charms for beginners?"
Hermione's eyes lit up with understanding. "Accio is a fourth-year charm, but there's a simpler locating spell..." She pulled out her wand, a vine wood affair that seemed to hum with potential. "I've been practicing."
Ten minutes later, Trevor was safely returned to Neville's pocket, and somehow all four of them had ended up in the same compartment, the conversation flowing as easily as if they'd known each other for years.
"So your guardian is Sirius Black," Hermione said, not quite making it a question. "I read about his trial in the papers. Twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit—that's horrible."
"It was," Harry said quietly. "But he's free now. And we're family."
Ron leaned forward. "What's it like, though? Having him teach you magic?"
"Chaotic," Harry admitted. "He and Remus—Professor Lupin, he helps raise me too—they've taught me theory, some practical spells, magical history. But mostly they've taught me to think for myself."
"That's more than most of us get," Neville said wryly. "Gran just expects me to somehow absorb everything through family disappointment."
"You're brilliant at Herbology," Harry reminded him. "Remember when you saved my life with that Devil's Snare cutting Sirius brought home? You knew exactly what to do."
Neville flushed with pleasure at the reminder.
The train had been moving for perhaps two hours when the compartment door slid open once more. This time, it revealed a pale boy with slicked-back blond hair and an expression of practiced superiority. Behind him stood two larger boys who looked more like bodyguards than students.
"Potter," the blond boy said, his voice carrying the kind of affected drawl that spoke of expensive tutoring and inherited arrogance. "I'm Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe and Goyle."
Harry studied the other boy carefully, remembering Sirius's lessons about reading people, about looking beyond the surface performance to the person underneath.
"Hello, Draco," Harry said mildly. "These are my friends—Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom."
Draco's eyes flicked dismissively over Ron and Neville before settling on Hermione with obvious distaste.
"Granger," he said slowly. "Mudblood name, that."
The compartment went silent. Ron's face flushed red with anger, Hermione went very still, and Neville's hand moved toward his wand. But Harry simply stood up, his green eyes meeting Draco's gray ones with calm intensity.
"That's not a word we use," Harry said quietly. "Not around me, not around my friends, not at all."
"Oh, please," Draco sneered, though Harry noticed the uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. "Don't tell me the famous Harry Potter has been raised by blood traitors to actually care about mudbloods and their—"
"My mother was Muggle-born," Harry interrupted, his voice still dangerously calm. "Would you like to call her that word too?"
Draco's mouth opened, then closed. The calculated cruelty in his expression wavered, replaced by something that looked almost like fear.
"He expected me to agree with him," Harry realized. "He thought the famous Harry Potter would be just like him."
"I—that's different," Draco stammered. "Your mother was—"
"Was what? Special? Different? Better than other Muggle-born witches and wizards?" Harry stepped closer, and now his voice carried an edge that reminded everyone in the compartment that Sirius Black had been teaching him more than just magic theory. "You know what makes someone special, Draco? Their choices. Their character. The way they treat people who can't fight back."
Harry tilted his head slightly, studying Draco with the intensity of someone truly seeing him for the first time.
"You're angry," Harry said suddenly, his voice gentling. "Not at me, not even at Hermione really. You're angry because you're scared. What are you scared of?"
"I'm not—" Draco started hotly.
"Everyone's scared of something," Harry continued. "I'm scared of letting down the people who love me. Ron's probably scared he'll never be good enough. Hermione's scared she won't belong in the magical world. Neville's scared he'll never live up to his parents' memory. What are you scared of, Draco?"
For a moment, something raw and vulnerable flickered across Draco's face. But then his mask slammed back into place, and he straightened to his full height.
"I don't have to listen to this," he said stiffly.
"No," Harry agreed. "You don't. But the offer stands—if you ever want to talk to someone who understands what it's like to have expectations forced on you, you know where to find me."
Draco stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like confused bulldogs.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed once the door slid shut. "That was..."
"Brilliant," Hermione finished, her voice slightly shaky. "Standing up to bullies like that."
"He's not just a bully," Harry said, settling back into his seat and looking thoughtful. "He's a scared kid who's been taught that cruelty equals strength. That's different."
"Different how?" Neville asked.
"Bullies can be stopped," Harry said simply. "Scared kids can be saved."
The countryside continued to blur past the windows as the Hogwarts Express carried them north toward their destiny. Ron launched into an enthusiastic explanation of Quidditch rules, with Hermione occasionally fact-checking him from Quidditch Through the Ages, and Neville adding his own observations about the strategic importance of teamwork.
"Remus was right," Harry thought as he listened to his new friends debate whether the Chudley Cannons would ever win another championship. "Knowledge is different from wisdom. And maybe the most important knowledge isn't about spells or potions—maybe it's about people."
The train began to slow, and in the distance, Harry could see the towers of Hogwarts rising against the darkening sky. For the first time in eleven years, he was truly leaving home. But as he looked around the compartment at Ron's animated gestures, Hermione's careful notes, and Neville's growing confidence, Harry realized something important.
He wasn't leaving family behind—he was adding to it.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0