The Train
Returning to Hogwarts after the war was not something Harry felt especially inclined to do, even after spending the entire summer rebuilding it. There were too many memories- most of them bad- attached to the place for him to ever be able to really concentrate on his NEWTS and get decent grades. Not like he’d need them, anyway. Being a war hero with an already considerably high amount of fame apparently guaranteed him a good job in the Ministry as an Auror, even without the required qualifications. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to do that, either. Spending the rest of his life upholding the law and arresting bad wixen was all well and good, but he’d already done that. Been there and got the t-shirt, as it were. He’d never been very interested in the job anyway, that was all Ron. The truth was he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, and never had.
Growing up with the Dursleys, all he’d ever wanted was to be free. He wanted to leave and never come back, to find himself a family that he could love and be loved in return. He’d wanted a proper bedroom, a comfy bed, three meals a day, and to do no chores. When he’d found out magic was real, and he was going to Hogwarts, he thought he might be able to find that. The fame came as an unwanted surprise. There were always eyes on him, watching, waiting, saying his name as if it were a prayer on their lips and reverently shaking his hand like doing so would bless their entire family with luck. He’d hated it, and it had only got worse when he’d actually started attending the school. He kept his head down, sorted into the house everyone expected of him, and desperately hoped that he’d be able to fade into the background and everyone would forget the name Harry Potter. And then the whole stone thing happened. Peace was never an option for him, apparently.
Things had only ever gotten worse from there. His relatives were still a nightmare, and he’d returned to Hogwarts for his second year only to end it facing off against a thousand year old basilisk and the memory of the Dark Lord- which, he now knew, had been a Horcrux. Third year wasn't much better. He blew up his aunt marge, spent the summer in Diagon, discovered his many Lordships and titles on a trip to the bank for some pocket money, and found out the escaped convict supposedly out for his blood was in fact his godfather. If that was all that happened that year, he’d have been happy. That was also the year he’d taken to studying in secret, as it was apparent that everyone aside from Hermoine was hell-bent on making sure he never held a book in his hand for longer than a few minutes at a time. She was really the only reason he was coming back this year. And then there was the fucking Dementors. Those were the only reason that year was utter shite. If, of course, he ignored the whole werewolf-tries-to-kill-me thing and the time-travel-to-save-my-innocent-escaped-convict-godfather thing.
He wasn't even going to bother thinking about the actual clusterfuck of fourth year. That.. that still haunted his dreams, even now, almost four years later. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly be over that. Or losing Sirius, Or the war in general. The fame for it all would follow him around for the rest of his life, which was why he was hesitant to come back in the first place. He just wanted to be alone, and live his life for a few years in anonymity, a chance to be himself without any of the expectations attached to the ‘Harry Potter’ brand (Because that's what it was now, wasn’t it?)
And yet, here he was.
King’s Cross station had always been lively, especially here on the muggle side. It was odd seeing so many people go about their lives as if a literal war hadn’t been fought right under their noses. As if dozens of people haven't been slaughtered on the other side of the wall, or in the streets of london. He’d give anything to be so blissfully unaware as they were, going about his business with his only concerns being getting to work on time or what he needed from the shops that day. Harry huffed and fingered his wand in his pocket, glancing around the crowded station with a vigilance that would have made Mad-eye proud. He’d learned the hard way last year to always watch his back. One could never know when an enemy might try and get the job on you. Even now, a few months after the dust had settled, he still expected a death eater to jump out and curse him, or an imperio’d muggle to attack him. He doubted he’d ever be able to just walk around in public without warning bells going off in his head every few minutes.
Steadying his nerves, Harry briskly crossed the platform towards the wall between the 9 and 10. This was it. Once he crossed that barrier, they’d be no turning back. People see him, word would spread, and they’d all expect him to be at Hogwarts for the year. There would be no escaping the public eye- not that he’d ever been able to escape it anyway, but hiding away in Sirius' old house had worked for the past month or so and that was good enough. With one last check of his pockets- wand, invisibility cloak, shrunken trunk- Harry walked straight through the wall and onto platform 9 1/3 for what was likely the last time.
He was not on platform 9 1/3.
That much was immediately obvious. The scarlet train was nowhere to be seen, instead a black one stood proudly in its place. There were children all over the place, wearing boxes around their necks, and the younger ones crying in their parents arms, while the older ones were either assuring their younger siblings as they all boarded the train, or were staring stoically at the train and waiting their turn. Harry glanced behind himself to find the wall he’d just passed through was gone, and there was another train with children of all ages boarding. There were very few adults getting on with them, in fact all adults were behind barriers with police and.. soldiers, taking the children and checking them onto the train. Now that he thought about it, they were all dressed very strangely, and that was saying something considering he was a wizard. He’d only ever seen clothes like this in memories and history.. books.. What in Merlin’s beard?
Someone bumped into him, pushing him forward as they rushed past. He stumbled into a barrier, where a mother was crouched down assuring her crying child that everything was okay, it's only for a few months, until the bombs stop. Mummy will see you soon, okay? Go on, now, get on the train- what? Bombs? Was this- Morganas tits, had he gone back in time? There was no way, and yet the evidence was clearly stating otherwise. He was in the 40’s. During London. In the Blitz. Harry would be the first to admit that he knew next to nothing about muggle history, it wasn’t really taught in primary school and even when it was, he hardly saw a point in paying attention at the time, but he knew enough to know roughly what happened. Children were being put on trains and sent to the countryside to avoid all the bombs dropping on the city, though most of them would come back to find their houses and families gone.
Another shove, this time with a hand on his shoulder and pulling him closer towards the black train. “Come on, lad. Ain’t no time to be hanging about, the trains leavin’ soon.” A man- a soldier- grunted and Harry, too shocked by what he was seeing and hearing, went along with it. “Jones’ll take your name, do as he says and sit with your group. Get off at your stop and your stop only, understand?”
“Er, yes? Sorry- no, hold on, I can’t get on the train,” Harry shook his head, pulling his arm free from the man right as they reached the door to the carriage where a man with a clipboard was standing waiting. He couldn’t go along with this, there was no way. If he really, truely, was when he thought he was, then he had to go. He had to find Tom Riddle before he could ever become the dark lord. He could save everyone, prevent the war from ever happening. It's the only reason he could think of for him arriving suddenly at this time. He didn’t have time for this, he could panic later when riddle was dead-
“Name?” The other man asked, barely even glancing up at them and completely ignoring Harry’s statement. Harry opted to go with one of his lesser known names, new time and all that, it would be nice to have a little break from the Potter brand, and it was reflex at this point to give strangers a different name than Potter.
“.. Hadrian Peverell, but i-“
“Carriage 3, compartment 7.” The man cut him off before Harry could start his protests again, stepping aside and making room for him to be shoved up through the door by the soldier that had dragged him over, while he scribbled something down on his clipboard. As soon as Harry was up on the train, the man was standing back in front of the door, covering the exit as another child was brought up. Harry huffed. He couldn't believe this. He wasn't even a child! Or a muggle! Granted, his stunted growth had him still looking like he was barely 16, but that's besides the point. He wasn’t a child to be bundled off somewhere hidden to avoid the chaos and casualties of war! Although, he couldn’t deny the idea had merit. He’d just won his own war, being in the middle of a muggle one wasn’t all that appealing, and he had no idea if his magic would protect him from a bomb being dropped on his head. He could always make his way to Hogwarts from wherever it is he gets dropped off at.. find riddle at school, make his death look like an accident, then focus on returning to his own time where hopefully he’d be just Harry, since there would have been no war to give him any undeserved fame.
With that in mind, Harry turns from the door and makes his way further into the train. Many of the compartments he passes are filled with groups of three or four, with the odd group of five. From what he can gather, siblings are generally grouped together, or merged with another family if there’s only one or two of them. He supposes that makes sense, considering most country houses or farm houses wouldn’t be able to fit more than a couple of children. There was only one compartment with five in, and those were all clearly siblings. Obviously they were a special case and had a placement big enough to house all of them, or they’d likely have been split up.
After a short walk, Harry finally arrived at compartment seven, carriage three. He opened the door and paused. Inside were four children. A young girl, around 8 years old, with short brown hair and brown eyes. Another girl, maybe about 12, with long dark brown hair and blue eyes. A boy, with short black hair and brown eyes, around 10 years old. And another boy, the eldest of the lot at around 13, with short dirty blond hair and blue eyes. All clearly siblings, all now looking at him in confusion. Yeah, Harry doesn’t blame them. He’s clearly not related to them, and there’s already four of them so there really shouldn’t be anymore children going to the same place as them, plus he's dressed a little differently than the people of this time- though not all that differently, as he’d opted for wearing a black trench coat in place of a robe while on the muggle side, and a white shirt and black dress trousers to avoid having to get dressed on the express.
Regardless, this is where he was told to go, and he had no intention of actually joining them at whatever substitute family they were being taken to, so there was no real issue with him just sitting with them. Stepping into the compartment, Harry closed the door behind him and took a seat next to the one with black hair. He observed as the siblings glanced at each other, not subtle in the slightest with their silent conversation, before the youngest took it upon herself to break the silence.
“Who are you?” She asked, childlike curiosity filling her eyes. She was sitting opposite him, her feet tucked under herself on the bench. She was sitting next to the blond boy, and the older girl next to him. Harry and the black haired boy were the only ones on this bench.
Harry looked at the youngest of the group with a kind smile, “Hadrian Peverell, and you are?”
“Peverell..?” The girl repeated, then grinned, “Oh! That sounds like our name! I’m Lucy Pevensie, and these are my siblings- Susan, Edmund, and Peter. Maybe your name was why they grouped you with us? They’re ever so similar!”
“Perhaps,” Harry smiled. That seemed like the most likely. The man with the clipboard barely gave him a chance to speak, he’d likely not even heard what he’d actually said, just heard ‘Peve-‘ and just automatically assumed he was related to them. Well, he did look similar to them. Sort of. He could probably pass as their half-sibling in a pinch.
“How old are you?” The girl- Lucy- asked next. It seemed her siblings were content to let her interrogate him for now, though Peter hadn’t stopped staring at him and Susan was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her side glances behind her book. The only one that was being subtle was Edmund, and that was only because Harry was sitting next to him.
The question gave him pause. He couldn't exactly tell them his actual age. If he admitted to them he’d just turned 18, definitely an adult in the eyes of the law and definitely old enough to be enlisted, they’d wonder why he was even on the train and if he was avoiding the war- which he definitely was, but not for the reasons they thought. But, if he played to his baby face, and acted younger than he actually was.. well, they wouldn’t be all that bothered why he was on the train, since he would still be classed as a child and therefore too young to join the army.
“I’ve just turned 15.” Harry lied easily, and for once he was thankful his short stature and stunted growth made him look younger than he actually was. “I wasn’t even supposed to be on the train, honestly, but they didn’t give me a chance to explain what i was doing on the platform before they shoved me on here,”
“Your parents were going to let you stay with them?” Edmund asked in surprise, finally shifting in his seat to fully look at Harry.
“No,” Harry shook his head, “I haven’t got any parents. I’m an orphan. I was just saying goodbye to my friends, that's all. Still, I’m not going to get off, because wherever you lot are going has got to be better than staying here.”
“We don’t even know if they’ll have room for you where we’re going, it was only supposed to be the four of us, and you’re not even registered.” Peter frowned, gesturing to Harry’s chest where there was a distinct lack of box or tags. He looked unhappy to have another person with them, or maybe he was just unhappy to no longer be the eldest in the group, or it was the fact that he so clearly wanted to stay here in London, and was being forced to go live with strangers. It could be any number of reasons, really, and Harry didn’t think it was his place to ask.
Harry glanced down at his chest, and yeah, okay, he had a point. It was very obvious he wasn’t supposed to be here. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he transfigured a bit of fluff into tags resembling the ones the other children were wearing, before hanging them around his neck as if he’d just forgotten to put them on. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I'll just get off where you get off, and go my own separate way. I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He shrugged, best to make it clear early on that he had no intention of staying with them after they got off the train.
“Absolutely not. You can’t just go off on your own, orphan or not, it isn’t safe.” Susan frowned, closing her book and stowing it away next to her. She reminded Harry a lot of a young Hermoine, in the way that she always tried to act older than she was. Susan eyed him for a moment, looking him up and down before nodding to herself like she’d come to some sort of decision. “You will stay with us. Our file says there's only to be four of us, but that's an easy mistake to make, and you look enough like Edmund that you could pass for our brother, and our names are even similar. I’m positive there will be enough room for you anyway, the professor we’re being evacuated to lives in a Manor House out in the country.”
“Susan!” Peter hissed, whipping his face around to glare at his sister, “he can’t just stay with us! We don’t even know him, and the professor only agreed to four of us. He’ll get us in trouble, or worse, send us away. What if we end up being split up because of him?” Harry wouldn’t let that happen, even if he did decide to stay with them for a while. Maybe he would, if it turned out Hogwarts wasn't in session yet. It would give him a place to stay, and he could always slip away once term started.
“Honestly, Peter,” Susan rolled her eyes, “One more child is hardly going to make much of a difference.” She folded her arms and raised a questioning eyebrow, “Would you rather him stay here and be blown to bits?”
“I agree,” Edmund added, glancing between his siblings and Harry nervously, before settling on looking at Peter. “We can’t just kick him off the train, or let him go off on his own. Mum would be furious if she found out.”
“Thank you, Edmund.” Susan smiled, directing a smug look at Peter. Lucy was nodding rapidly, obviously in agreement with her older siblings- bar Peter.
Peter huffed, “It’s not like she’s going to find out we let a stranger walk off on his own” he muttered, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest. “Fine, have it your way then. Welcome to the family, Hadrian Pevensie”
Harry smiled, “please, call me Harry,” they might as well, he’d always thought ‘Hadrian’ sounded too pompous for someone like him. Too pureblooded, not that these muggles would understand what he meant by that if he said it.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harry,” Susan offered him a small smile. Just then, the whistle blew, and the noise outside the train spiked as parents rushed to get their children in the train before it left. Lucy quickly got up and went to the window, looking out at the crowds of people, tears in her eyes as she struggled to spot the person she was looking for. Her Parents, Harry thought.
Lucy sniffled, and Susan reached out to take her arm. She pulled her little sister into her lap and wrapped her in a blanket, cuddling her to her chest. “It’s alright, Lucy, we’ll see her again,” Susan soothed as Lucy turned her head into her chest and sobbed. Peter reached across to take her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. Harry could see him fighting not to cry himself. Harry glanced down at Edmund to see how he was handling this- he was a child too, and though Susan and Peter were obviously trying to be strong and comfort Lucy, Harry could already tell the youngest brother disliked asking for support. He was a lot like Harry in that way.
Just like he thought, there were tears in his eyes, too, and he was wiping furiously at his eyes in an attempt to stop them. Harry put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side, Harry leant down, “it’s alright to cry, you know. No one’s going to think any less of you,” he whispered.
Edmund twisted in his seat and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s chest, hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder as his own shook with barely concealed sobs. Harry didn’t hesitate before putting both arms around him and shifting in his seat so he could hug him properly. He might not know these siblings, but he was never any good at turning a blind eye to anyone that needed comfort, especially children.
With Edmund crying on him as the train pulled away, Harry met Peter's eyes across the compartment. Peter nodded his silent approval and thanks, and Harry offered him what he hoped to be a comforting smile.