John St. James was your average British working citizen. He got up every morning at precisely forty-five minutes and twenty seconds after six in the morning. He would roll out of bed, put on his fuzzy gray bunny slippers and go into the loo to prepare for the day.
At precisely fifty-four minutes and thirteen seconds after seven in the morning John would leave his house and go to his job. He arrived at his job at precisely seven minutes and five seconds after eight. He was an engineer at King's Cross.
Every day he would spend one hour, thirty-nine minutes and fifteen seconds on every train on his list, with ten and a half minutes in between for walking time. No matter how long or short his walk to each train or how much or how little a train needed to be worked on he always spent the allowed time on it. He has never not fixed a train or not gotten to a train on time.
In fact, Mr. John St. James timed every thing about his day out. He was a very time oriented kind of man. The only thing about his day that wasn't timed was the TBBOB. Oh how he loathed the TBBOB.
TBBOB is short for Those Bloody Book Obsessed Buggers.
John, of course, meant the Harry Potter fans that flocked to King's Cross. Every single day at lest ten fans would run head long into a brick wall. Most of them where Americans. A few got concussions and all of them got a nosebleed.
There was even one girl who had beaten herself into unconsciousness. She had run into the wall eleven times, screaming about how she was coming to save Harry Potter from Ginny.
John would never understand why those kids would run into the brick archway between stations eight and nine.
This J.K. Rolling knew nothing.
After all, the real gateway to the scarlet train was at station eleven and two-thirds. But now, what self-respecting squib would give away the magical community?
Maybe that J. K. Rolling new something after all…