Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer.
I wish I had a better idea what this is all about, thought Harry Potter.
If this was a dream, it was one of those odd dreams where you are embarrassingly unprepared to be where you are. At least he wasn't missing his shoes in this one.
No... it couldn't be a dream. It was too realistic. Harry had to assume he wasn't lying in bed at home, or nodding in class. He was wide awake. He could recall his name and address, and knew he was just past his 11th birthday. He could picture the Dursleys -- what a horrible picture. He could recite half of Jabberwocky from memory.
He knew everything he should -- except he had no idea why he was dashing through the countryside on the railway, and feeling very disoriented.
He knew he was supposed to be in one of these compartments. Properly, he should be talking to someone in particular, who would fully understand who he was and why he was here. For some reason, he thought it might be someone who could help him at school. There was no escaping it; he'd just have to look about the train, and ask.
Assuming he was on the right train, of course!
As it is, he would look like a complete git for having to ask where he belonged, as though he was a lost child.
The worst of it is, I am a lost child.
Harry gathered his courage and entered the first compartment.
No one paid him the slightest attention.
"Excuse me, is this my compartment?" he asked. No one answered, or even looked up. Then again, he hadn't been too bold. Maybe a bit louder.
"Excuse me," he tried again, but there was no reaction.
Perhaps they are hearing-impaired,
he thought. If so, Harry knew no sign language to ask his question.Harry moved on to another doorway, and once more, loudly intruded with, "Excuse me, is this my compartment?"
He experienced the same silent result. A girl got up, but only to go to the window to see some cows.
This is weird. Did I die... am I a ghost? Or is this Ignore Harry Potter Day?
Harry had to press himself against the wall as a man strode up the middle of the corridor, paying him no mind. Harry imagined himself tripping the man if he went past like that again.
The third compartment only had one occupant, looking out the window. He decided to confront this passenger a bit more, in hope of getting a reaction ... any sign of recognising Harry was on the same planet, in the same time/space continuum, and trying to converse.
He sat down opposite, leaned forward, and said quite firmly, "Excuse me, but I've lost my place on the train. Can you help me?"
The passenger looked his way -- a piercing look, head slightly tilted -- but said nothing.
"I think something's wrong here. My name is Harry Potter, I'm a schoolboy from Surrey, I'm 11, and I haven't an idea why I'm here. I'm missing something I should know, or I've forgotten it."
The passenger seemed to be nodding ever so slightly, eyes darting about, a smile forming, then whispered, "11-year-old... schoolboy... no idea. Potter... Harry Potter."
"Yes! Thank you for your help! No one else is paying any attention to me, for some reason, but perhaps you might tell them my predicament, and find out why I'm here."
The passenger nodded more definitely now, staring oddly; smiled, and whispered louder: "Taking the train to school.... a wizard school."
That puzzled Harry. He didn't think his school was so wizard. Still, first things first.
"Can you tell the others about me?"
"Yes! Of course!" said the passenger, fiddling in a coat pocket for a pencil and notepaper, then scribbling.
Harry leaned back and rested his nerves. Now I'll be all right. He looked out the window and waited for his fellow passenger to finish writing.
Harry recognised him as the son of the lady at Platform 9-3/4... Ron, wasn't it? He'd be glad for talkative company, so he welcomed his new friend for the long ride to Hogwarts.
"And where did the idea for the books come from?" said the reporter.
"I was going on a train from Manchester to London," the lady author reminisced, "and I was looking out of the window -- at some cows, I believe. And he strolled into my head -- fully formed, a scrawny little dark-haired boy. Right off I knew he was a wizard, and I knew he didn't know he was a wizard. I kind of worked backwards and forwards from that.
"I have no idea where it came from. I think the idea was floating along the train and looking for someone, and my mind was vacant enough, so it decided to zoom in there."
(Author's note: The ending is a compilation of actual Jo Rowling interview quotes: Daily Telegraph, July 1999; CBBC Newsround, June 2002; and Royal Albert Hall, June 2003. The story and characters are fiction, of course... aren't they?)