On September first, Julian and Harry were driven to the station by Miss Smith and dropped off, their trunks already safely tucked into Greed. Before they parted, Julian pressed a small box with the woven gold ring into her hand as a quiet thank you. Then the boys slipped into the crowd.
"So where is platform nine and three-quarters?" Harry asked, frowning as he stared at the big boards of platform numbers. There was nothing even close to that listed.
Julian shrugged lightly. "Maybe it is magically hidden between platforms nine and ten," he said in a calm tone.
Harry considered that, then nodded. It sounded like exactly the sort of nonsense wizards would come up with.
"How are we supposed to find it then?" he asked, starting to sound worried.
Julian smiled and crouched a little so they were at eye level. "Look around. See anyone who stands out near nine or ten?" he asked, offering Harry a hand to steady the boy's nerves.
Harry scanned the area more carefully this time. It did not take him long to notice a group that clearly did not fit in, even in the chaos of the station. Robes, trunks, and an owl cage were a dead giveaway.
To his amazement, he watched as three members of that family casually walked straight through what should have been a solid barrier between platforms.
He shot a look at Julian, half expecting to be told he was imagining things.
Julian nodded. "I would guess that is where we need to go," he said, serious now.
Julian would have been lying if he had claimed he was not nervous as he gripped the trolley handle and lined up with the barrier. Running full speed at a wall was not something he had ever done willingly.
Still, he pushed the cart forward.
Nothing jarred, no impact, no resistance. One moment they were aiming at stone, and the next they were gliding smoothly onto a new platform, bathed in steam and noise, surrounded by students and the gleaming red Hogwarts Express.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
...
He had made absolutely sure that Harry covered his scar before they ever left the orphanage, and with good reason. The platform was crawling with reporters, cameras at the ready, eyes scanning every face they could see, clearly hunting for a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived.
Julian had warned Harry about this days ago, explaining, much to the boy's horror, that he was essentially wizarding Jesus in the eyes of the magical world. Harry had not taken that comparison particularly well.
None of the reporters noticed them slip by now. Harry kept his fringe low, his head down, and his body angled behind Hedwig's cage while Julian led the way along the train.
They climbed aboard quickly and without incident.
Because no one realized Harry Potter had already passed them, the usual frenzy never happened near their compartment. That meant, unlike the original timeline, there were still plenty of empty compartments left on the train.
Julian picked one near the very back, the sort that was so far out of the way most people would only stumble on it by accident. He wanted to see how much of the original story still insisted on happening despite his interference.
He did not have to wait long.
Just before the train started to move, a nervous-looking redhead with freckles poked his head into the compartment. Julian saw the boy's eyes immediately latch onto Harry's forehead, or more specifically, the faint outline of the scar hidden under his hair.
"Er... mind if I sit here?" the boy asked, shifting awkwardly in the doorway.
Julian acted as though it did not matter to him. Harry, more polite by default, nodded and moved Hedwig out of the way. Julian shrank the cage and slid it up overhead into storage.
Hedwig hopped down from the rack and settled along the seat at Julian's side, her amber eyes fixed on the newcomer with a keen, measuring stare.
The red-haired boy stuck out his hand toward Julian first, clearly taking him as the one in charge. "I am Ron Weasley," he said in a casual tone.
Julian took his hand, firm but not aggressive. "Julian Iron," he replied. "And you already know who my friend is."
He said it with a knowing smirk.
Harry blinked, confused for a second, then realized what Julian meant. Ron had recognized him.
"Er... yeah," Ron said sheepishly, glancing at Harry's forehead again. "That is Harry Potter, right?"
"I am," Harry admitted. "And no, I do not remember anything about that night."
He got the words out smoothly, just as Julian had coached him. Better to shut down the usual questions before they could even be asked.
The effect was immediate. Ron's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as he tried to think of something else to say and came up with nothing.
"Relax," Julian said lightly. "Just treat him like anyone else and you will be fine."
Ron let out a breath he had not known he was holding.
"I just thought you would be... I do not know... awesome looking, I guess," Ron confessed, looking embarrassed.
"Why?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Propaganda, mostly," Julian cut in dryly.
Ron thought about it for a moment, then snorted in reluctant agreement. "Yeah. There are all these stories about you. How you were raised by dragons, or went off on loads of adventures and such. I figured most of it was rubbish, but you never really know, do you? No one does."
Harry groaned and turned a betrayed look on Julian. "You never said it was this bad," he complained.
Ron looked confused again.
Julian chuckled and explained how he had warned Harry about his absurd fame, but Harry had not fully believed him.
"How did you even know?" Ron asked, frowning. "You were raised by muggles, right? And there is no pure-blood family called Iron."
"Flourish and Blotts has an entire section dedicated to wild stories about Harry here," Julian answered smoothly. "I saw it when we were buying our school books."
Every word was true.
He just conveniently left out that he had gone looking there on purpose.
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