September 1st
The morning of September 1st arrived not with the majestic crow of a rooster, but with ten pounds of indignant half-Kneazle launching itself onto Alister's chest at precisely 5:00 AM.
"Asher," Alister groaned, peeling the purring shadow off his face. The cat's whiskers tickled his nose. "Don't tempt me to donate you to Hagrid's collection."
Asher merely blinked his luminous golden eyes and began kneading the duvet with calculated precision, looking insufferably smug.
By 10:30 AM, King's Cross Station had transformed into a chaotic sea of commuters—a tide of briefcases, takeaway coffees, and harried businesspeople rushing past, completely oblivious to the magical dynasty walking in their midst.
Alister navigated the crowd with practiced ease, pushing his trolley with one hand while the other rested lightly on Astra's shoulder. She needed the anchor; he could feel the tension radiating from her small frame.
"Nervous?" he asked, noticing how her knuckles had gone white where she gripped her trolley's handle.
"A little," Astra admitted, her voice smaller than usual. "There are so many people. What if—"
"Wait until you see the Great Hall," Alister interrupted smoothly, steering them around a businessman who'd nearly trampled Astra's trunk. "A thousand students all staring while a sentient hat announces your deepest personality traits to the entire school."
Astra's eyes went wide. "You're not helping."
"I'm being honest," Alister said, but his tone softened. "Don't worry. You'll be brilliant. You have me, after all."
"Humble as always," Astra muttered, but she was smiling now.
Alister nodded toward the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, where a cluster of flaming red hair rose above the crowd like a beacon.
"Oi! Alister!"
Two identical grins broke through the sea of faces as Fred and George Weasley spotted him. They abandoned their trolleys—and their mother's exasperated shout—to jog over.
"The man himself," Fred announced, clapping Alister on the shoulder.
"The myth," George added with theatrical reverence.
"The financier," they chorused together, dropping their voices to a conspiratorial whisper that probably carried to half the platform anyway.
Alister smirked. "I trust the Self-Inking Quill prototype didn't explode this time?"
"Only once," Fred assured him solemnly. "And it was a very small explosion."
"Barely singed Percy's eyebrows," George added. "We call that a resounding success."
"Percy disagrees," Fred noted. "Loudly. With many big words."
Their mischievous gazes shifted to the girl beside Alister, and the teasing vanished, replaced by genuine warmth.
"And this must be the famous sister," George said.
Astra blinked up at the two towering redheads, suddenly looking very small indeed. "I'm Astra."
"We know," Fred said, executing an elaborate bow that nearly knocked over an elderly witch. "Fred Weasley, purveyor of chaos and mayhem."
"George Weasley," his twin added with an identical bow. "At your service, milady. Anyone related to Alister is a friend of ours." He leaned in conspiratorially. "If anyone gives you trouble—Slytherins, trolls, Filch, boring professors—you let us know."
"We have a reputation to maintain," Fred stage-whispered.
"Fred! George! Stop corrupting the first-years and get moving!"
Molly Weasley bustled over like a force of nature, looking harried but radiating maternal warmth. She beamed at Alister with the fond exasperation of someone who'd known him for years—completely unaware that he was the anonymous benefactor funding her sons' increasingly creative mayhem.
"Alister, dear! So good to see you finally!" She turned to Astra, and her expression melted into pure delight. "And you've brought your sister! Oh, look at you, you're so small!"
Before Astra could protest, she was engulfed in a hug that threatened to crack ribs.
"Mrs. Weasley," Alister greeted her with a polite nod over Astra's muffled squeak. "Always a pleasure."
"Come on, come on, we're running late!" Molly released Astra who stumbled slightly, looking dazed and began herding everyone toward the barrier. "Percy's already gone through to polish his prefect badge for the third time this morning. Ron! Stop dragging your feet, we don't have all day!"
Astra looked up at Alister, her eyes wide with something between alarm and amusement. "They're... intense."
"They are," Alister promised. ". But they're loyal, and that matters more than you'd think." He gestured toward the barrier. "Go on. I'm right behind you."
Astra took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, gripped her trolley with renewed determination, and ran at the seemingly solid brick wall.
She vanished without a trace.
Alister followed at a leisurely walk, timing it so a pair of tourists were looking the other way. The moment he crossed the threshold, the acrid smell of diesel and exhaust was replaced by coal smoke and the sharp, electric scent of ozone.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Hogwarts Express sat hissing on the tracks. Students hung out of windows, calling goodbyes to parents. Trunks were being hauled aboard by harried prefects. An owl hooted indignantly from somewhere in the luggage car.
Despite everything the summer's chaos, the frozen vaults, the political upheaval that had shaken the Ministry, the platform buzzed with excitement. Dumbledore had clearly worked his particular brand of magic behind the scenes; the panic had faded, replaced by the standard, glorious chaos of the first day of term.
Alister spotted Astra near the middle of the train, looking simultaneously overwhelmed and excited. He caught her eye and gestured toward the rear carriages.
They found an empty one near the back. Alister flicked his wrist almost lazily, and Astra's heavy trunk floated up into the luggage rack as though it weighed nothing.
"Show-off," Astra accused.
"Efficient," Alister corrected.
A low whistle came from the doorway. "Nice charm."
A gangly boy with flaming red hair and a smudge of dirt on his nose stood there, looking impressed. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. Mind if I join? Everywhere else is full, and my brothers are planning something that'll probably get them expelled."
"The more the merrier," Alister said, claiming the window seat. "I'm Alister. This is Astra."
Ron's eyes widened slightly clearly recognizing at least one of those names but he simply nodded and hauled his trunk inside. "Wicked. My brothers mentioned you."
As the train lurched into motion with a piercing whistle, London began to slide away beyond the window. The urban sprawl gradually gave way to suburbs, then rolling countryside.
The compartment door slid open again, more forcefully this time.
"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."
A girl with impossibly bushy brown hair stood there, radiating bossy concern. Behind her, a round-faced boy looked on the verge of tears, clutching an empty box.
"Under the seat to your left," Alister said calmly, not looking up from the book he'd just cracked open. "He's wedged behind the heater vent."
Neville dropped to his knees immediately. A moment later: "Trevor! Oh, thank Merlin!" He scooped up a disgruntled-looking toad and held it like it was made of spun gold. "Thank you so much!"
The girl, however, was staring at Alister with narrowed, analytical eyes. "How did you know that? Did you use a Summoning Charm? Or a Revealing Spell? I've read about both in—"
"I have good eyes," Alister interrupted smoothly, meeting her gaze with mild amusement. "And good hearing. I heard something moving when you opened the door."
"Oh." She looked slightly deflated, then rallied. "I'm Hermione Granger. And you are?"
"Alister. This is my sister, Astra."
Hermione's eyes went wide as saucers. She looked from Alister to the small girl with the lightning bolt scar peeking from beneath her dark hair. "Astra Potter? I've read all about you! You're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century—"
"Here we go," Astra muttered, sinking lower in her seat.
"Take a breath, Granger," Alister suggested, his tone more amused than annoyed. "She's just a person. A very small, very normal person who happens to have an interesting scar."
Hermione flushed but took a seat next to Astra, clearly trying to contain her enthusiasm. Within minutes, Ron was explaining the finer points of Quidditch to anyone who would listen, Neville was clutching Trevor like a lifeline while tentatively joining the conversation, and Hermione was peppering everyone with questions about everything from house points to the Forbidden Forest.
Alister leaned back against the window, half-listening, watching Astra laugh at one of Ron's terrible jokes. She looked happy. Lighter than she had in weeks.
Good.
The compartment door slid open with a sharp clack.
"I knew I'd find you back here, hiding from your adoring public."
Alister looked up, and a genuine smile broke across his face. Standing in the doorway was a girl with long, sleek black hair and a Ravenclaw crest already pinned to her robes.
"Cho," Alister said, standing.
Cho Chang didn't wait for formalities. She stepped inside and wrapped him in a tight hug that spoke of genuine friendship.
"You are terrible at writing letters, Alister Potter," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Two months! I heard more about you from the Daily Prophet than I did from your owls. Do you know how insulting that is?"
"I was busy," Alister said, returning the hug briefly before pulling back. "Research takes time. Besides, I knew I'd see you today."
Cho rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She looked past him to the younger students, her expression softening when her gaze landed on Astra.
"And this must be your famous sister," she said warmly. "I'm Cho. Ravenclaw, second year. Your brother talks about you constantly. It's actually quite annoying."
Astra beamed, looking delighted to meet someone who dared tease Alister. "Hi! I'm Astra. This is Ron, Hermione, and Neville."
"Nice to meet you all," Cho said brightly, giving them a friendly wave. She turned back to Alister, tugging on his sleeve. "Come on. You can play the responsible guardian later. The Weasley twins have commandeered a compartment three cars down and are taking bets on whether the Sorting Hat will debut a new song this year. Lee Jordan brought his tarantula."
"Of course he did," Alister muttered.
He glanced at Astra, who was already unwrapping a chocolate frog with Hermione leaning over to read the card. "Will you be alright if I step out?"
"Go," Astra said, waving him off without looking up. "I'm winning at Exploding Snap anyway. You're bad luck."
"Brat," Alister said affectionately, ruffling her hair as he passed.
"Tyrant," she shot back, but she was grinning.
He stepped out into the corridor, sliding the door shut behind them. The noise of the train was louder here—students shouting greetings, laughter drifting from open compartments, the distant rattle of the trolley witch making her rounds.
"So," Cho said as they began walking down the gently swaying corridor, bumping shoulders as the train took a curve. "How are you really? The papers make you sound like some kind of prodigy inventor now."
Alister snorted. "The papers are idiots. I just do what I want."
They reached the compartment near the middle of the train. Raucous laughter boomed from inside, punctuated by what sounded like a small explosion.
Alister paused with his hand on the door handle.
"Ready for the chaos?" Cho asked, eyes dancing with mischief.
"With Fred and George, you're never ready," Alister said. "You just hold on and hope you survive."
He slid the door open.
"Gentlemen," Alister announced over the cacophony of a carriage full of laughing third-years, "I hear you're looking for an investor."
Fred and George looked up from a scattered pile of parchment, half-eaten liquorice wands, and what appeared to be a partially dismantled alarm clock. Identical grins spread across their faces like sunrise.
"Alister!" Fred shouted with the enthusiasm of a carnival barker. "The bank has arrived!"
"Make room!" George yelled, physically shoving Lee Jordan—and his box of increasingly agitated tarantulas—to the side. "Sit down, Potter. We have a vision."
"It involves feathers," Fred began.
"Custard," George continued.
"And total plausible deniability," they finished together.
Alister sat down next to Cho, already shaking his head but unable to suppress a smile.
"I'm listening," he said.
Outside the window, the Scottish countryside rushed by—rolling green hills, ancient forests, and distant mountains shrouded in mist. Dark and beautiful and full of magic.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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MYTH: Christopher K Wright