The steam locomotive's thick smoke curled above the chattering crowd, where cats of all colors wove through people's feet. Amid the buzzing hum of conversation and the clatter of heavy luggage being dragged, owls hooted sharply, calling and answering one another.
To Harry, it was all just noise. The great Chinese writer Lu Xun, mentioned in his textbooks, had put it so well.
He should have been thrilled to have made it to the platform without a hitch, but after an unexpected journey lasting two and a half years—neither long nor short—his mood was complicated.
In another world's China, he had made friends: a studious scholar who helped him with classical Chinese, basketball teammates, and even a Chinese-style Family who, though unfamiliar at first, felt more like real family than the Dursleys ever had.
Growth, however, was limited. That world's main quest was academic excellence, not schoolyard dominance. Earning attribute points meant tackling endless academic tests.
And with no magical background, he couldn't improve his supernatural skills or gather potion ingredients.
Every world has its limits. Harry couldn't grind combat skills to godlike levels in a low-tier world, but his skill levels, once gained, never diminished—a permanent achievement, never to regress.
He could freely use magic in a mundane world like that of the Chinese-style Parents, and he could carry the full strength from high-limit worlds into lower ones.
When the time came, he'd dominate, show off, and rack up attribute points.
Truth be told, competing in ordinary sports events already felt like cheating.
Counting his various travels, Harry's real age was well into his twenties. If his first crossing had been to that world, he might have truly seen that ordinary middle-aged couple as parents, not just an uncle and aunt.
He'd have to find a way to visit them again someday, along with his friends from the world of A Song of Ice and Fire…
When crossing, he'd likely return to the exact moment he left, so no need to worry about being gone too long and causing trouble. With that thought, Harry boarded the train.
The first few carriages were already packed with students, some leaning out of windows to talk to their families, others roughhousing in their seats.
Harry set out to find an empty spot. As he passed, a round-faced boy said, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."
"Oh, Neville," an old woman sighed.
Harry glanced back at the round-faced boy. He looked young, with an unpolished simplicity untouched by knowledge—completely unlike Harry, whose mind was brimming and buzzing with newfound learning.
Another first-year, perhaps?
Something told Harry this boy wasn't as ordinary as he seemed. He might achieve something great in the future—a fleeting intuition sparked by Harry's high charisma, though not necessarily reliable.
"There's no seer among my wizards. Could I have a knack for prophecy? Maybe I'll take Divination in third year."
Speaking of which, in the world of the Chinese-style Parents, Harry had discovered it was already the 21st century. He'd searched for traces of Harry Potter in Britain, but found nothing.
Not only that, but while myths, histories, and modern figures were similar between worlds, most contemporary literature and art differed. He couldn't find A Song of Ice and Fire either—just a vaguely similar Roar of Blood and Water.
If he could find stories about his own world, he'd outshine any soothsayer alive.
NewB, niubi, the cow's force—Chinese slang for something or someone awesome, because it's so big!
By the Seven, Harry swore on Lu Xun's ferocity, Merlin's pants, and the Seven's blasted balls that whoever coined that term was a damned linguistic genius!
He wanted to kick their arse with his boot!
Lost in wild thoughts, Harry pushed through the crowd and found an empty compartment near the back of the train.
He set Hedwig's cage up first, then hoisted his trunk onto the rack with one hand.
Settling quietly, Harry noticed many people recognizing him as he passed. He let his hair fall over the lightning scar on his forehead and consciously dialed back his charisma. With the train so crowded, now wasn't the time for a fan meet-and-greet.
Even the redheaded family he'd entered the platform with had noticed. The four boys heading to school had boarded, and the twins had spotted his scar, then gone back to tell their little sister.
She was clearly a huge fan, clamoring to board and meet him, only to be stopped by her mother.
The plump woman had warned the twins not to bother Harry, not to make him relive that event on his first day at school. A kind-hearted lady.
A whistle blew.
The train lurched into motion.
Harry glanced out the window, seeing the redheaded children's mother waving. Their little sister, laughing and crying, ran alongside the train until it sped up, leaving her behind, still waving toward it.
A sudden chill hit Harry. That little sister wasn't waving at him, was she?
Though he looked eleven, Harry's wisdom far exceeded his appearance. He definitely wasn't into lolis.
Soon after, the compartment's sliding door opened. It was the youngest of the redheaded brothers.
"Anyone here?" he asked, pointing to the seat across from Harry. "Everywhere else is full."
Harry shook his head, drew his wand, and cast a Levitation Charm to lift the boy's luggage onto the rack.
Sure, one finger was stronger than the charm, but Harry was settled, and magic was convenient for moments like this.
The boy, assuming Harry's mature demeanor meant he was an older student with a youthful face, didn't question the magic. He said thanks and sat down.
"Hey, Ron."
The twin brothers appeared.
"Listen, we're heading to the middle carriage. Lee Jordan's got a giant sack-spider—oh, it's you."
"Who?" Ron muttered.
"Hi, I'm guessing you're Harry," one of the twins said. "We haven't introduced ourselves, have we? Fred and George Weasley. This is Ron, our little brother. Mum told us not to bother you, so we'll see you at school."
"Bye," Harry nodded. The twins slid the door shut.
"Huh? Harry, Harry Potter? You're the Harry Potter?"
Ron blurted out.
"Yep, unless there's another Harry Potter in the wizarding world."
Harry brushed aside a lock of hair, revealing the lightning-shaped scar.
His scar was practically his wizarding world trademark.
"That's from You-Know-Who?" Ron didn't even care that Harry, a first-year, was using magic. The Boy Who Lived knowing spells? Totally normal.
"Yeah," Harry said. "It's from Voldemort's Avada Kedavra clashing with another spell. I'm still studying it."
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