Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the Hogwarts Express or any train that calls at King's Cross Station. Harry Potter and the HogEx both belong to J. K. Rowling, and the trains calling at King's Cross belong to various real people - most belong to East Coast, though. Neither do I own the Keys to the Kingdom series, or any quotes from it.

Any text in bold is property of J. K. Rowling, because she can write better than I can.

Summary: Harry Potter grows up on the London Underground. He learns to hide, to charm, and of course, never to miss the train!

Author's Note: How did Harry get an education when he was homeless from the age of seven? Mostly by osmosis. The human mind is a wonderful thing. I'd think he'd pick up simple maths pretty fast, what with the money issues he'd have. He'd already learned the basics of reading in school, and probably read quite a few newspapers over the four years. He's probably bumped into his fair share of city traders, school trips, interested tourists and the like, and he's charming, especially in comparison with most of the people you meet at peak time. Besides, most wizards seem to get along just fine.


Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Connect

by whoturnedoutthelights

Chapter 2: Those Stupid Books, or Diesel Multiple Units

September 1st, 1991 dawned.

On this day, the Soviet Union continued to dissolve.

On this day, soon-to-be Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom Jonathan Sacks prepared for his induction.

On this day, in a small room above a secret magical pub in Central London, around 3 minutes from Leicester Square tube station, a young wizard by the name of Harry James Potter was busy packing. He didn't want to miss his train after all.

Harry didn't have too much to pack. Most of his school robes and clothes were already in his trunk, lovingly folded. New clothes, after all, were a luxury he'd never had before. His books were in there as well (apart from Magical Draughts and Potions, which was somewhere - now where did I put it last night, he thought), and he'd somehow managed to get his cauldron to fit inside as well.

He wandered over to the window, and looked out over London. The city had been his home for four years, but in all that time there were still secrets to uncover - such as Magical London! But today was the day he was leaving. Today was the day he was starting a new life!

He picked up his telescope from where it sat by the window, and the book beside it (ah - there it was!), and put them into his trunk. He closed the lid, straightened up and attempted to lift the trunk.

Wow, it was heavy. There was nothing for it. He'd have to take a bus. But first, breakfast.


The clock struck half nine above St Pancras Chambers, George Gilbert Scott's impressive masterpiece on the Euston Road, which in 2002 would stand in for King's Cross Station in the second Harry Potter film. Harry Potter himself was not there though. Harry Potter was getting off the bus round the corner, beside St Pancras's unimpressive, boring sister King's Cross Station, dragging an extremely heavy trunk and a shiny new cage, containing one very disgruntled Hedwig. A number of frowning old ladies heading towards Holloway on the bus he'd just left began to grumble about "young children these days".

Five minutes later, he'd found a luggage trolley, put his trunk and Hedwig on it and pushed it into the station, heading towards Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It was a clever idea, to hide the gateway to a magical intercity train between two commuter platforms. Commuters never bothered to look around themselves.

Harry came to a stop about ten feet from the barriers. They looked very solid, but this was something he'd tried several times on Friday, and he walked straight through the barrier, and came to a stop.

A scarlet steam engine stood on the platform, belching steam. Behind it were six 19th century carriages. The platform itself was empty. Harry wandered down to the last carriage, where he attempted to lift his trunk on board. After dropping it on his foot, several times, he managed to prop one end of it up against the doorway. Lifting the other end onto the train, however, was beyond him.

And so it was that twenty minutes later, Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, first met Drs John and Ophelia Granger and their young daughter Hermione with his back to his trunk and the train and his owl on his lap, cursing the archaic tendencies of a Wizarding World reluctant to switch to Diesel Multiple Units.


Dr John Granger of Molesey Dental Practice, Surrey (there were worse places to set up shop - he could have been in Kent, or even in Dent!) was highly amused.

He was also absolutely horrified, of course. Harry's story was certainly a horrifying one. Orphaned at one, abandoned by his remaining family at seven, homeless for four years - the list just went on! He could feel his wife's maternal instincts coming into play. But underneath all that, he was highly amused.

After all, this kid was eleven years old! Eleven years old, behaving four times his age, and the only other person in this world not enchanted by this new world of wizards and magic.

The dentist let a smile rise to his face, as Hermione levitated the trunk onto the train to the kid's (Harry's, he reminded himself) annoyance. At least not all wizards were crazy.


The clock struck eleven above St Pancras Chambers, and the huge red steam locomotive started to pull away from the platform. This was it, thought Harry, goodbye London, hello Hogwarts. He watched outside the window as the train pulled out of the platform and alongside the main line. Then he turned to speak to Hermione, who was next to him, but her head was buried in a large, leather-bound copy of Aletha Freeman's Depository of Healing Enchantments.

Harry, who was used to urban solitude, did not press the issue.

Another ten minutes after that, as the train was passing through Hadley Common (probably as far north as Harry had ever been), the door opened to reveal a redheaded young boy. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Can I sit here?" the boy asked. "Everywhere else is full." Harry nodded, and the boy dragged his trunk inside before sitting down. Hermione looked up from her book for a moment, looked the boy up and down, then buried her head in her book again.

They sat in silence for another minute, before the boy spoke up.

"Blimey, you're quiet," he said. "It's unnatural, sitting in here with you two just staring."

"Sorry," said Harry, and he meant it. "It's just that most Muggles don't really talk to each other on train journeys. It's a shame, really. Are you from a wizarding family?"

"Yes," said the boy. "Pretty much. I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we don't talk about him really. I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

Ron laughed.

"No, you're not," he said. "Harry Potter's eight feet tall, with a pointy beard down to his waist!"

Hermione started laughing so hard, she dropped the book she was holding. Ron turned to glare at her, but she didn't really notice. Harry was in shock.

"Honestly, eight feet tall! No human being who's eleven years old can be eight feet tall, it's not possible. Let alone have a beard," she said, when she had calmed down. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Do all wizards have no sense of proportion?"

Ron gaped. Before he could attempt to respond, though, Harry (who had just recovered from this stunning revelation) stepped in.

"Seeing as they can all fly on broomsticks, do you really expect them to? But seriously, eight feet tall?"

"Well, that's what it says in the books about you. Ginny - she's my sister - believes it completely." Hermione started laughing again. Ron seemed to decide she was crazy, and turned to Harry.

"But have you got the - you know - scar?" Harry lifted his (even longer) fringe. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who..."

"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Most people don't store long-term memories until about the age of three, so I'm surprised you recall that much," said Hermione. "But maybe it's different for wizards, nobody in my family's magic at all, so I wouldn't know. What's different about wizarding households?"

"Well, not much really. We've got a ghoul in the attic, and we can play Quidditch in the orchard, but that's about it. Dad really likes Muggles, thinks they're fascinating, so he's always bringing Muggle stuff home. But what's it like living with Muggles?"

Hermione was, for the first time in her life, stumped by the question. How do you describe normal life and normal people? Harry came to her rescue.

"Well, my aunt and uncle and cousin were horrible. I used to live with them until I was seven, but then they took Dudley - my cousin - to the London Dungeon, and we were on the Underground, and he tripped me up and I was abandoned on the train. I've been living on the trains ever since. Most of the people are quite nice - they'd give me free pasties or ice creams, or a hot bacon roll for breakfast, and -" he trailed off, looking at Ron, who was gaping once more.

"Wow," said Ron. "I mean - I thought we had it bad. Dad works at the Ministry, but they don't pay him very much, and there's seven of us at home. Bill and Charlie have already left and got jobs, Percy, Fred, George and me are going to Hogwarts and Ginny's still too young to go. I'm the youngest in the family, apart from Ginny, but she's a girl so it's different, so I never get anything new - I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat - but at least I've got a bedroom and Mum cooks me food. Do many Muggles not have places to live, then?"

Hermione looked scandalised.

"No! Almost all non-magical families have a home to go to, and children without a home live in orphanages or foster homes." Harry raised an eyebrow. "OK - I suppose you don't - wait, how were you not found by Social Services?"

"Social Services?" asked Ron.

"They're in charge of improving people's lives, supposedly. Not that they do, really. I'd heard bad things about orphanages, so I kept an eye open for them," said Harry.

"Right," said Ron. "So what do you do? How do you get food?"

Harry began to tell Ron all about his life wandering around London, culminating in the events of his birthday. Hermione sat back on her seat, but Harry could tell she was listening too.

"and so I was on the train towards Whitechapel when I meet this old man in a bright yellow cloak, with a tube map on his left knee, and we talk for a while. Turns out he was Professor Dumbledore! It's going to be really hard to think of him as a teacher." Harry's story was then stopped by two incredulous questions from Ron and Hermione.

"Dumbledore uses Muggle trains?" This came from Ron, who looked more shocked than he had so far.

"Professor Dumbledore, Supreme Muggle-Wizarding Unification Ministry President wears bright yellow cloaks?" Hermione looked about as shocked as Ron, and that's pretty shocked, just so you know.

Harry looked at the two of them, then burst out laughing once more. Both Ron and Hermione looked indignant for a moment, but joined him in laughing.

They continued in this vein, with the three of them swapping stories for a while. Harry told them about his other encounters with wizards, and about all the strange people he'd met at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione told a few stories of difficult patients at the dentistry practice. Ron was just finishing a particularly gripping tale about the time when he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom when the door opened, and a boy with a pale, pointed face and platinum blonde hair, slicked back, whom Harry had met a month earlier in Diagon Alley stepped in. He was not alone, either - on either side of him was a thickset, mean, ugly looking bodyguard. Well, boys, actually, but they were probably bodyguards too.

"Have any of you seen -" the boy tailed off when he realised who was in the compartment.

"Have any of us seen what?" asked Ron.

"I was going to ask, have you seen Harry Potter, but he obviously wouldn't be hanging around with you. Red hair? Hand-me-downs? You must be a Weasley," said the boy. "Have you seen him?"

"Have I seen whom?" asked Hermione.

"Have you seen Harry Potter?" said the boy.

"No, don't think so," said Hermione. "What does he look like?"

"As I thought, you haven't seen him. Harry Potter is eight feet tall, with a pointy beard down to his waist. And never speak to me again, you filthy little Mudblood," said the boy. Ron looked outraged, and was about to speak up, but never got a chance to, as Harry looked up at the boy for the first time in the journey, his eyes dancing with mirth, and said,

"Those stupid books! I'm eleven years old. Do all wizards have no sense of proportion?"

The three of them burst into laughter again. The pale boy looked completely confused. One of the bodyguards started to join in, but the pale boy hit him. Collecting himself after a moment or two, the pale boy delivered one final "insult".

"You're obviously not Harry Potter. Harry Potter would have proper wizarding graces, unlike you," he said, and walked out of the compartment, followed by the two bodyguards. Hermione, if possible, laughed even harder.

"Proper wizarding graces? Honestly, who speaks like that these days?" she said, and the three of them resumed their conversation.


Well, I was originally going to give you the entire train journey. It's getting longer than I thought, though, and it's difficult to get through the required topics of discussion (there are surprisingly many - that's why Rowling gave it its own chapter). It's not really something I can, or indeed want to skip.

So, Ron and Hermione! I've always thought Ron was given short shrift by fanon. Sure, he's got certain disgusting habits, but we only know about these because he's Harry's best friend, and these are the sorts of things only you know about your best friend. The films really did not help in this aspect, in fact, they made it ten times worse, so we start to miss out on Harry's best friend, and instead we get "Dumb Ginger Kid". I've also upped Hermione's intelligence by a little bit, which will become clearer the further along we get, assuming we get that far. I had several directions for this first meeting between the three of them to possibly go in my head, but this is the one that came out. And it sounds a bit conceited, but I like it. Hermione doesn't get to laugh enough in fanfiction, and that's really quite sad.

Guest review reply: Draco Malfoy is not being psychic. He's just showing a bit of deductive skills, and the deduction will be explained in the next chapter. Don't worry, he's not going to become a genius, that role goes to Hermione - but it's my personal belief that almost nobody is born unintelligent, and one that will come across throughout the series. And anyway, Hermione's still in Muggle clothes, because she'd been chatting to Harry and Ron right from the start.

I have changed the names of Hermione's parents from the usual fanfiction convention. Really, Dan and Emma? You might as well go the whole hog and call them Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson, it's obvious that's what you're trying to say.

I won't be writing any Dangerverse characters. That was a cameo appearance that I felt like putting in.