The Celebrity

1st September, 1992 Platform 9¾, King's Cross Station

Platform 9¾ was overflowing. The usual bustle of families and trunks had transformed into something far more chaotic — and far more historic. The crowd wasn't just parents and students anymore. Witches and wizards from every corner of Britain had Apparated in, crowding against the invisible barrier, trying to blend in, pretending they had someone to send off — but their eyes betrayed them. They were waiting. Watching. Hoping.

The Ministry had deployed Aurors, discreetly stationed across the platform in plainclothes, but no amount of magical concealment could suppress the buzz in the air. Something monumental was happening. Magic itself felt heavier today, as though it were holding its breath.

Because he was here.

Harry James Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived. The youngest Potion Master in recorded history. The mind behind the Moonsbane Elixir — the boy who had gifted sanity and dignity to every werewolf in Britain. He had changed laws, shaken institutions, and somehow remained a mystery no one could unravel.

And all this before even going for his second year at Hogwarts. 

It was hard to believe that a single boy did so many impossible things all before turning 12 years old. And it was harder to believe that he didn't make much of it. 

"—and if I do give you access to the potion room, Harry," Vernon was saying, "you're not allowed to blow it up." 

Harry pouted, "That was one time. Besides I fixed it." 

Sirius chuckled beside them as he heard their banter. Petunia was just behind them, straightening the hem of Abigail's robes for the fifth time. Abigail, however, was far too busy swinging Harry's hand like a pendulum and trying to look everywhere at once.

"I still don't understand how you pulled this off," Petunia muttered under her breath as they walked toward the scarlet train.

"I didn't pull anything off, mom." Harry said with a smirk. "She's brilliant and maybe she is one of those rare geniuses that gets to go early?" 

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Yeah both of my children are geniuses. Right... What did you do?" 

Harry put up his hand in surrender. "I didn't do anything at all." 

Petunia just sighed as she didn't push it further. She knew that Harry will not give it up unless he wanted to. Abigail just giggled as she continued to make a pendulum out of her brother's arm. 

A hush fell over the platform as they passed. Some adults stared in awe. A few witches flushed and looked away too quickly. Children whispered and pointed. Reporters had been warned off — Harry's influence again — but that didn't stop the tide of awe that followed them like a rolling wave.

Even when every single one of them seemed to be wanting to talk to him, none of them mustered up enough courage. 

Just as they passed the edge of the crowd near the train, a pair of small figures broke free from the arms of their startled parents.

"Mum! It's really him!""It's Harry Potter!"

A boy and a girl — twins, no older than six — bolted across the platform. Both had identical curly brown hair, small cloaks too big for their frames, and wide, awestruck eyes.

Harry blinked in surprise as the two practically collided into him, looking up at him like he'd stepped out of a bedtime story.

"Are you the one who made the Moonsbane Elixir?" the boy asked, breathless.

"Dad said it was a potion from a brilliant wizard," the girl added, gripping her brother's hand tightly. "He said that potion saved him."

Harry slowly knelt down, Abigail freezing mid-swing to watch.

"I did," Harry said softly. "That was me."

The twins looked at each other and, in perfect unison, flung their arms around him.

"Thank you!" they chorused. "You saved our dad!"

For a moment, the noise of the platform faded. Even the buzzing crowd paused to watch as the boy who changed magical medicine knelt quietly on the station floor, hugging two children like he had all the time in the world.

Harry's expression didn't change. He smiled — not the kind of smile meant for cameras or crowds, but one meant only for the two in front of him.

"I'm glad I could do something for him," he said gently.

As they pulled back, Harry reached into a pouch at his side — a seamless twist of his fingers opening up his enchanted subspace storage. He withdrew two small packs of sweets wrapped in brilliant foil. Candied cauldron cakes and fizzing sugar drops — both originally meant for Abigail's train stash.

"Here," he said, handing one pack to each child. "For being so brave. Go enjoy your trip home, alright?"

The twins' eyes widened as they took the sweets like they were receiving royal treasure.

Their mother called to them nervously from behind the crowd, and the children ran back toward her, waving furiously at Harry as they went. Their father, standing just behind with a cane and heavy cloak pulled over old scars, bowed his head in silent thanks.

Harry stood, brushing off his knees, and turned toward his family like nothing had happened.

Neither he — nor Sirius or Petunia — noticed the flicker of blue runic light from within the crowd. A hidden lens blinked once, capturing the entire scene from beginning to end.

Somewhere in the midst of the Auror-swept chaos, a silent spell etched a single image into a floating reel — Harry Potter, arms around two smiling children, handing them sweets under the shadow of the Hogwarts Express.

An image that, before the day was up, would make the front page of every magical paper in Britain.

And Harry?

Harry just turned to Abigail and said, "I'll buy you some sweets on the train Abby." 

Abigail smiled. "I know. Don't worry I'm not mad." 

And then, like a gust of red hair and chaos, the Weasleys arrived.

"Harry!"

Ron bounded over, already dragging his trolley at dangerous angles, followed by a line of siblings like carriages behind a runaway locomotive. Fred and George wore identical grins; Percy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else; Ginny was just behind Percy, pushing her trolley with an excited look on her face.

"Bloody hell, Harry, the entire platform's going mental looking at you. Did you notice that?" Ron said as he reached Harry. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that why the platform is so crowded today? I thought that the first years are a lot this time." 

Ron looked at Harry not being able to believe how oblivious Harry could be to his fame. Fred and George swooped in, flanking Harry like twin hawks. 

"Alright, boy legend." Fred said. 

"Making werewolves go from a threat for society to being people with a furry problem, not good enough for you?" George asked.

Harry groaned. "Alright, alright. Maybe I did something never done before but it has been almost 3 months now, shouldn't people already forget about it." 

Fred clutched his heart dramatically. "Forget it? Oh, Harry, you wound me." 

George leaned in with a grin. "You gave hope to an entire class of magical beings who were hunted for centuries. You don't just forget that." 

Fred nodded sagely. "You're trending, mate. Globally."

George added with mock gravitas, "Posters, chocolate frog cards, fan mail—Mum says you've got more admirers than Lockhart."

Harry let out an exaggerated groan. "Don't ever compare me to him."

Sirius, now at Harry's side again, ruffled his godson's hair. "They're right, pup. You'll have to get used to the occasional adoration. Maybe sign an autograph or two." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Next person who asks for an autograph is getting a recipe for boiled doxy livers instead." 

Thank god, these people don't know about the rest of the stuff I did, or else I would have been painted a god by now. 

Abigail, still clutching Harry's hand, looked up innocently. "Can I get your autograph, then?"

Everyone around them burst into laughter at Abigail's ability to make her brother eat his words. 

Petunia fixed Abigail's robes for the 20th time before they got on the train. "Don't forget to write. And if you find something difficult go to your brother." 

Abigail pouted, "I know, mom. Harry will be my personal chauffeur at Hogwarts, don't worry." 

Soon the entire party was onboard the train and looking for a good compartment—only to hear a familiar voice call out before they could open a single door. 

"Ron! Harry! Over here!"

Hermione Granger's voice echoed from further down the corridor.

They turned to see her poking her head out of a compartment, frizzy hair already tied back, and a book in one hand.

"I saved us one!" she beamed.

Harry led the way, and as they all approached, Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the size of the group.

"Er— I didn't think this many of you were coming."

"Neither did we," Ron muttered.

"No worries," Harry said with a smile. He held out his hand towards the center and focused for a few seconds and gave it a exaggerated flick.

Nothing happened for a while, but then Ginny and Hermione gasped as they felt the sudden expansion—the space inside the compartment expanding to almost twice its original size, with enough room for all of them to sit comfortably, even with trunks stacked in the corner.

"Undetectable Expansion Charm," Harry smirked. "I tweaked it a little bit." 

No one looked too surprised though. By now they expected Harry to do something that takes their breath away whenever they meet. They all piled in — Percy taking a window seat with a journal, Ron and Hermione bickering over who'd get the corner, Fred and George settling into a shared bench with matching decks of Exploding Snap, Ginny and Abigail chatting excitedly about Hogwarts, and Harry just sitting back, watching them all with a quiet sense of peace.

The train whistled. Steam hissed outside. Platform 9¾ began to slide away from view as they waved goodbye to their families. Petunia shouting at Harry to not forget to write which Harry was surely not going to do since he could just Apparate back whenever.

while Platform 9¾ had been filled with admirers today… it had also been filled with watchers.

And not all of them had kind intentions.

Far away, in a candlelit office of polished dark wood and whispering shadows, a man stared at the moving photo of Harry hugging the children on the platform.

He tapped the image once with a gloved finger.

"So this is the boy," he murmured.

A voice from the shadows replied, "He's far more dangerous than we expected. Even Dumbledore treads lightly now."

The man's eyes narrowed.

"Then it's time we stop watching."

He slid the photograph into a thick folder already filled with notes, runes, and red string crossing between events and faces.

"And start preparing."

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Around 12pm, a soft chime echoed outside in the corridor, followed by a warm, familiar voice.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry's head snapped up and so did the twin's. Then—like synchronized fireworks—they were on their feet. Just as Harry was about to step out first, Fred swiftly threw an arm across his chest and pushed him right back into his seat.

Caught off guard, Harry blinked, eyes narrowing. "Oi—what was that for?"

"Nope. Sit down, Potter," Fred said cheerfully.

"Executive decision," George added, already halfway into the corridor. "You're banned from buying."

Harry stood again, glaring. "Like hell I am—"

Fred spun back and jabbed a finger at him, still grinning. "Listen here, mate. You funded our entire joke empire, you bought every snack for us last year, and you even covered Ginny's one of a kind wand. You've done enough."

"And from now on," George said, leaning into the doorway, "we buy for you. Forever. End of story."

Harry opened his mouth—but Ginny's sharp voice cut through before he could speak.

"Harry James Potter. Sit. Down."

The tone brooked no argument.

He gave her a sulky glare, crossed his arms, and plopped back into his seat with a deep, irritated huff. "Fine."

"You're adorable when you're defeated," Ginny said sweetly, and leaned back with a victorious smirk.

Outside, the twins unleashed chaos. The trolley lady, didn't know them but as they ordered, she smirked. "Seems like Potter is on parole this year. I had my suspicion that he would do something like this so I stocked heavy." 

"Good call," Fred grinned. "We're feeding a small army."

And feed them they would.

They cleared out box after box—ten packs of Chocolate Frogs (12 per pack), ten of Chocolate Cauldrons, fifteen of Pumpkin Pasties, and crates of Bertie Bott's, Licorice Wands, Sugar Quills, Ice Mice, and their own special order of Skiving Snackboxes.

Everything was doubled. No—tripled.

The final count: 298 galleons and 9 sickles.

The trolley lady blinked. "Well. I wasn't wrong to prepare."

"You're a visionary," George said solemnly, handing her the money with a wink.

"Pleasure doing business," Fred added, tipping an imaginary hat.

As they returned, everyone's face was painted with disbelief. Everyone except Harry who was still pouting for not being able to buy sweets. He didn't like his friends being the one buying him things. He liked being their wallet. It's how he showed his love after all.

"Snacks," Fred announced, "for the kingdom!"

He and George staggered in, arms overflowing with bags and boxes. Chocolate Frogs leapt in their wrappers, Cauldrons clinked, and an avalanche of Pumpkin Pasties threatened to bury Ron entirely as they dumped everything onto the middle bench like a victorious loot drop.

Everyone in the compartment froze, wide-eyed.

Ron looked at the pile like it might be a hallucination. "Are we… opening a Honeydukes branch in here?"

Hermione gaped. "This is outrageous. No one needs this much sugar."

"Objection sustained," Percy said, reaching for a Licorice Wand with a grin. "But I'm not complaining."

Harry was still sulking in the corner, arms crossed and lips twisted in protest. He didn't even reach for a Frog. "I told you I could pay."

"And we told you to stop trying to be our sugar daddy," George said as he tossed him a Chocolate Cauldron anyway. "Now hush."

Ginny plopped beside him, smirking. "You're lucky we let you eat the sweets at this point."

"It's not about the sweets," Harry muttered. "It's about the principle."

Abigail laughed, shaking her head. "Honestly, the last time I saw anything like this was when Harry bought a whole month's worth of ice cream for twenty-something people—me, Mum, Dad, Sirius, and eighteen house-elves. Poor Mum fainted when the order showed up in thirty-four separate crates."

Fred looked delighted. "Wait, that was you?"

Percy raised an eyebrow. "I remember that story. Didn't the Florean Fortescue's delivery guy file for medical leave after hauling it all?"

"Yeah," Abigail snorted. "He claimed the tubs haunted him in his dreams. Also, the house-elves tried to tip him with enchanted chocolate coins. He cried."

Ron looked back at the pile and whistled. "So Harry's madness is hereditary."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "It was a family bonding experience. And it made Mum cry happy tears. After she woke up."

Ginny leaned into him with a teasing smile. "And now you're mad we won't let you blow another hundred galleons on Sugar Quills. You're ridiculous."

"I have money. Let me spoil my people," Harry grumbled.

"Nope," George said, tossing a Pumpkin Pasty to Hermione, who caught it on instinct. "You're on a spending ban until further notice."

Fred pointed dramatically. "Enforced by Weasleys' Wizarding Wallet Watch."

Abigail giggled and reached into the pile, pulling out an Ice Mouse. "Well, while you lot argue about who gets to spoil whom, I'm going to start sampling the stock."

"Seconded," Percy said, unwrapping a Sugar Quill. "Also, someone should hide this from Ron before he eats himself into a coma."

"Too late," Ron mumbled, three Pumpkin Pasties deep already.

As the train continued cutting through the countryside, the compartment settled into the warm chaos of laughter, sugar highs, and one very put-out Boy-Who-Lived, who pouted all the way through his second Chocolate Cauldron.

As the sugar rush settled into content munching and idle conversation, Percy leaned forward, brushing pastry crumbs from his lap. He picked up one of the freshly issued Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks and flipped a few pages with a thoughtful hum.

"Harry," he said, tapping a passage. "What's your take on this counter-curse method for Cruciatus shock? Seems a bit… simplified, doesn't it?"

Harry looked over. "Oh, that one's outdated. The better approach is to cycle a calming charm with focused Occlumency breathing. Works faster, especially if the victim's mind's already frayed."

Percy blinked and nodded in understanding as he peered into the textbook more. "Yes, that does make more sense." 

But as Percy returned to the book, Harry's eyes lingered on the cover. 

Defensive Magical Practices: Theory & Execution

That was different. Second year's Defence textbook was supposed to be a complete farce. Magical Me, Gadding with Ghourls, Break With a Banshee... all those Lockhart 'autobiographies' that he stole from other wizards.

But these.... these were actual textbooks. Real content. Useful content. How did he not notice it when he stuffed all the new book content into his mind? 

Once again something had changed. Even the thing about Ginny getting Tom Riddle's diary had changed. Harry had been following her secretly and from a distance when she had gone to Diagon Alley. But the scene with Lucius Malfoy slipping the diary into Ginny's books didn't happen. 

"But then again, the Ravenclaw's diadem wasn't in the Room of Requirement either so maybe the Horcruxes in this universe were truly different from what he had read?" 

But that was fine. 

He leaned back against the seat, confidence settling like armor across his shoulders.

Whatever happens, he thought, picking up another Licorice Wand, I'm strong enough to handle every variable.

With a satisfying crunch, he bit off the end, savoring the sweet tang as silence returned to his mind.

Abigail, curled beside him with an impressive sugar crash, had her head resting lightly on his lap. Her breathing was soft, the sugar-fueled chaos now quieted into sleep. Absentmindedly, Harry stroked her hair—gentle, rhythmic—his eyes drifting to the window and the shifting green countryside beyond.

It felt peaceful. But the peace wouldn't last long.

He turned slightly, gaze shifting to Ron and Hermione. "You two ready?"

Hermione startled, blinking out of her parchment-filled haze. "Ready for what?"

"Teaching," Harry said simply.

Ron gulped. "Right. Yeah. As ready as I'll ever be…"

Hermione glanced down at her notes, then at Harry, then straightened her spine. "I mean—we've studied, practiced, drilled everything with you. So yes. Nervous, but ready."

Harry nodded approvingly and then addressed the whole group, voice calm but clear.

"I trained you guys during the holidays so I wouldn't have to focus too much on you in class. That way I can help the others catch up faster."

There was a pause.

Then seven voices chorused, perfectly synchronized:"We know, Harry. You've told us that thirty times."

Harry blinked.

Percy didn't even look up from his book as he added dryly, "Thirty-one now."

Even Abigail, half-asleep, mumbled, "Told us in your sleep too, you overplanner."

Harry huffed, feigning offense. "Fine. No more reminders."

George snorted. "Until tomorrow."

Fred added, "Or the moment we reach Hogwarts."

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The Great Hall shimmered under floating candles and the soft, amber hue of twilight bleeding through the enchanted ceiling. The long house tables buzzed with returning chatter, and eyes flicked constantly toward the front where the sorting hat rested on its stool, slumped as though in contemplation.

The Sorting began—names echoing through the hall.

Soon enough—

"Weasley, Ginerva Molly!" 

Ginny strode up confidently, and sat down on the tool as the Hat was placed on her head, and within seconds—

"Gryffindor!" 

Applause burst from the Gryffindor table, especially the twins, who whooped obnoxiously. Ginny sent a theatrical bow to the Hall before sliding in beside Hermione.

Then came the next name.

"Dursley, Abigail!"

The hall quieted slightly at the surname. Curious eyes followed the small, mischievous girl with windswept curls and sugar-high energy as she hopped onto the stool. The Sorting Hat had barely touched her head.

"Gryffindor!"

If Ginny had made a scene, Abigail made a festival. She bounced off the stool like a spring-loaded spell, practically skipping across the floor and landing with a grin into the empty seat beside Harry. Without hesitation, she seized his hand with a smug look and said, "Told you I'd land next to you."

Harry gave her a fond smile. "Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in."

She did. Vigorously.

Moments later, the Sorting Hat was carried away, and all heads turned as Dumbledore rose with his usual twinkle-eyed grandeur.

"Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts!" His voice, warm and regal, swept across the room like a calming breeze. "May your studies be enlightening, your friendships everlasting, and your mischief...moderately harmless."

Laughter rippled lightly.

"But before we dive into the delights of our feast, I'd like to introduce someone. Please welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—Professor Kael Thorne.

The applause was respectful but curious as a tall man with a lean, wiry build stood from the staff table. Kael Thorne had deeply tanned skin, sun-creased eyes, and silver at his temples. His robes were simple, almost militaristic in cut, and a scar traced his jawline like punctuation to a story no one had yet heard. He nodded once—sharp, assessing—and sat again.

Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, "That man has killed things."

Harry whispered back, "That man has interrogated things before killing them."

Everyone in the hall sat straighter as if scared to see their new Professor cross.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly and continued. "Professor Thorne brings with him decades of experience as an Auror and a certain...firmness we expect will keep you all focused."

A few first-years swallowed visibly.

Dumbledore let the silence stretch just long enough before he shifted topics.

"Now—before we feast, I'd be remiss if I did not take a moment to honor one among us."

Harry's shoulder tensed. I really hope he doesn't mention my potion mastery again. 

"As many of you know that a student of ours has rewritten history," Dumbledore went on. "At the very age of eleven, Harry Potter has become the youngest Potion Master in recorded wizarding history. And not merely in title—he crafted a true miracle. The Moonsbane Elixir." 

The entire hall burst into a thunderous applause. Several students, especially from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, stood to clap. Several of Slytherin students were also seen standing.

Dumbledore continued after the students settled down. "With this potion, for the first time, werewolves are now able to transform without losing themselves. They retain their minds, their speech, and most importantly—their dignity."

Harry flushed crimson, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.

Ginny nudged his side. "Try to smile before your ego catches up."

Dumbledore raised a hand, letting the applause settle.

"Now," he said, eyes twinkling mischievously, "I believe I mentioned at the end of last term that a surprise awaited you this year?"

Curious murmurs bubbled through the hall.

"Well then," Dumbledore continued, turning toward Harry with a warm, knowing smile. "Harry, if you'd be so kind as to join me."

Harry stood and walked to the front, calm and composed. The hall fell into a hush again, every eye following his movements with a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and awe.

Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and addressed the hall.

"This year, Hogwarts introduces a new, mandatory course for all years—Basics of Magic. This class is unlike any other. It dives beneath wand movements and spoken spells, and instead focuses on the very root of your power—your magical core. Your connection to the world around you. The intent behind every act of magic."

Murmurs rose, but Dumbledore raised his hand.

"And the one who not only proposed but will also teach this subject is Mr. Potter himself."

Now the murmurs turned to full-on chatter. Gryffindors burst into cheers. Ravenclaws whispered furiously. Hufflepuffs exchanged delighted looks. Even the Slytherin table was stirred—though some skeptical, others interested.

Dumbledore stepped aside.

Harry stepped forward. His voice, when it came, was calm, steady—and carried an effortless weight.

"I know this is unexpected," Harry began. "And I know many of you are wondering how I, someone your age or younger, can be up here… teaching you."

He paused.

"So rather than tell you—let me show you."

Harry lifted his hand—not his wand—and held it palm-up toward the air above the staff table. A shimmering ripple ran through the space.

A large sphere of water burst into existence mid-air, floating like a glass orb suspended by an invisible thread. Gasps echoed through the hall.

Then the water began to move.

It twisted and shaped itself—into a soaring Hippogriff, wings outstretched, then dissolved into a swirl that became a castle on a mountain, with trees swaying and waterfalls flowing. Then, it changed again—into Hogwarts itself, students laughing on the grounds, the Quidditch pitch buzzing with motion, the Great Lake glistening under a golden sun.

The hall was dead silent.

And then, with a slow wave of his hand, Harry reshaped the water into a long, twisting ribbon—and scattered it in a glimmering burst. Drops of water shimmered in the air—and every goblet and pitcher on every table filled at once, the clear liquid changing color into a rich, golden hue.

"Butterbeer," Harry said simply.

Fred took a sip. "It is!"

"Understanding your magic," Harry said, "means more than learning spells. It means mastering yourself. Your emotions. Your focus. Your energy. You can fight better. Heal faster. Learn quicker. Your wand isn't your power—it's just a tool. You are the source."

He let that sink in.

"This course is mandatory," he continued, voice firm. "But I promise, it won't be a waste of your time. If anything—this is the one class that could change everything else you thought you knew about magic."

He nodded, stepping back.

For a few long seconds, no one moved.

Then the applause began.

It started at the Gryffindor table—Dean and Seamus clapping furiously, joined by the rest of the house. Then the Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws, though still blinking in disbelief, joined in. And even the Slytherins couldn't quite keep their arms folded. Several clapped, slowly. Others sat motionless—but thoughtful.

Dumbledore beamed, eyes twinkling. "Well then—let the feast begin!"