Chapter 76: King's Cross Station
"Oh, the power I received from Harry is back," Alexander smiled faintly.
Combined with the realization that Ludo Bagman's arrest wouldn't affect much, he suddenly felt a sense of relief.
In this case, Voldemort would still be resurrected using Harry's blood, and his daily routine would remain uninterrupted.
But in the next second, that joy was shaken by an overwhelming surge of shame.
Alexander suddenly realized that an innocent witch had been affected in the process.
Morality isn't necessary for those who are constantly fighting for their own survival.
But Alexander knew he wasn't like other typical transmigrators. For someone like him—who could protect himself and had even become invincible—morality wasn't something he could afford to discard.
Compared to Harry Potter, who grew up alongside him as a central figure of the story, Bertha Jorkins was just a minor, disposable character.
But in the real world, she was still a living person—with people she loved and who loved her.
Bertha Jorkins, a witch known for her sharp memory and habit of poking into others' business, had once discovered Barty Crouch Jr.'s secret. She was placed under a Memory Charm that made her forgetful.
During the summer after Harry's third year, Bertha, while traveling in Albania, stumbled upon Peter Pettigrew. Curious, she followed him—only to be captured.
Out of a cruel and twisted curiosity, Voldemort didn't simply extract her memories but subjected her to repeated torture to make her reveal everything.
For example, she told him that the retired Auror Alastor Moody would be teaching at Hogwarts for the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.
This was likely because Voldemort, with his advanced magical abilities, saw through the memory block placed on Bertha. Even Legilimency can't extract memories that the host themselves can no longer recall.
Eventually, under continuous high-intensity torture, Voldemort shattered the Memory Charm through unrelenting pain, discovering that a loyal Death Eater still existed—Barty Crouch Jr.
It was a horrific fate, even if Sirius Black had once described Bertha as nothing more than a silly gossip—nosy, and not very bright.
But that didn't mean she deserved to die.
Time soon advanced to September 1st. To avoid unnecessary attention, Alexander went to King's Cross Station alone instead of traveling with Penelope and Kate.
Of course, a more personal reason was that he wanted to watch this moment unfold—live, like a real movie.
Alexander clearly remembered: Harry Potter arrived at the station at 10:10 a.m. Unable to find the entrance to the platform, he waited until 10:50—ten minutes before departure—before encountering the Weasley family, who helped him.
It was now 10:30.
Alexander pulled out a pocket watch—not to check the time, but to subtly show that he still used such mundane tools, like a typical wizard. After all, within his mental space existed the most accurate chronometer imaginable. He knew the precise hour, minute, and second at all times.
Sure enough, two figures soon appeared.
At first glance, they might seem like a warm family—an obese middle-aged man gently lifting the skinny boy's suitcase onto a trolley and helping him push it into the station.
But once they reached the platform, the fat man stopped.
"Alright, here you are, kid. Platform 9... Platform 10. Your platform's somewhere between them, I guess. Doesn't look like it's built yet, huh?" he said with a nasty grin. "Good luck with your school year."
Then he turned and returned to the car, laughing loudly along with a thin woman with an unusually long neck and a massively overweight boy—clearly the Dursleys, celebrating as though they'd won the lottery.
Between two large plastic signs—9 and 10—the skinny boy stood alone, uncertain. His lips were dry, and he kept licking them nervously.
This was Harry Potter.
Just as Harry, clutching Hedwig's cage and attracting odd looks, was about to ask a nearby guard for help, Alexander stepped forward and tapped his shoulder.
"Hey, you're a new Hogwarts student too, right? I'm Alexander Smith," he said with a warm, easy-going smile.
"Uh—yeah, you too?" Harry replied, glancing up and freezing at the sight of Alexander—who looked like a figure out of a myth. He had moon-bright eyes, flawless black hair, and dazzling white teeth.
Harry blushed involuntarily. But strangely, no one else around seemed to take notice of the boy's otherworldly looks.
Even more curious—this student arrived alone, carrying nothing, and didn't seem to make any sort of farewell.
"Um, did you already put your trunk on the train?" Harry asked shyly.
"No, I'm carrying it with me. Oh! I'm almost forty now," Alexander chuckled, deliberately speaking nonsense to keep Harry off balance.
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" Alexander asked, his eyes flicking to the lightning-shaped scar barely hidden beneath Harry's messy hair.
He continued before Harry could reply. "The entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is at the third pillar between platforms nine and ten. Just head straight toward the ticket gate and go through. Don't stop, don't hesitate—just walk with purpose. If you feel nervous, try running."
Alexander echoed Mrs. Weasley's words from the original story almost word-for-word.
"Oh—okay."
"But how did you—" Harry started, but Alexander only pointed at the scar on his forehead and smiled.
Harry turned the trolley around and set his eyes on the designated spot.
From Alexander's perspective, as Harry approached the boundary between platforms, a crowd of passengers suddenly passed between them. When the last backpack moved away—Harry had vanished.
"So that's how they do it," Alexander mused. "A built-in protection against Muggles noticing. These people… some really are Muggles, not just disguised wizards."
As he thought about it, he briskly followed Harry through the barrier.
The scene changed instantly.
A crimson steam engine was stationed beside a platform filled with bustling travelers. A sign on the side of the train read: Hogwarts Express, 11:00 a.m.
Alexander turned back—the gateway had become an ornate wrought-iron archway labeled: Platform 9 ¾.
Thick smoke billowed overhead as colorful cats dashed beneath people's feet.
The crowd was buzzing with chatter, suitcases being hauled, and the occasional hoot of an owl. The front carriages were already full of students—some leaning out to speak to their families, others laughing inside.
Harry stood near his cart, now having swept his messy hair forward to hide his scar. When he saw Alexander, he waved—his eyes filled with curiosity.
Alexander smiled and stepped forward into the start of another school year at Hogwarts.
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