Solo DNI FINISHED

Platform 9 and 3/4 was its usual mess of tired travelers, under-paid employees, and slightly-sticky baggage carts. Draven tried not touch anything, though it was proving a lot more difficult than he'd expected. Minutes crept by slowly as he waited for the train. It was much too early in the morning, though time was a strange thing in train-stations; he didn't suppose it mattered how early it was. People came in with their house slippers. Others were in four piece suits. There were those with service animals held tight on a leash, and others clutching empty cups of coffee, paper straws melting in the liquid that remained on the bottom.

Draven had gotten well acquainted with train stations. With waiting areas of all types, really. They were always a little miserable. Walls covered in water stains, muggle ads peeling off, chipped paint decaying. He liked the chipped paint. There was a special sort of pleasure in digging his fingernails under it and watching it come off in strips. He liked breaking apart the pieces that came off the walls, and watching them crumble between his fingertips. They left a strange dust behind that he didn't like getting on his clothes. But the sound and the feeling of paint breaking was worth it.

Draven's head hit the wall with a dull thump as he waited, staring at the train-tracks between half closed eyes. He was cold. It was a distant sensation, one that slowly crept underneath his clothes, raising goosebumps across his arms. His feet had gone numb as well. His back hurt too. His knees and wrists snapped as he moved them, trying to dislodge the feeling. The bench was uncomfortable, so he pulled his knees up to his chest. But his boots were dirty, and putting them on the bench felt like a crime.

He let his feet drop again. The people around him were slowly starting to become stranger. Though he supposed strange wasn't the word. Dark robes and carts loaded with chests and live animals had started gathering on the waiting platform. There was still an hour left to wait. But slowly, his kin had reappeared around him. Draven pulled his mask up, covering his nose and mouth. It was a nice mask. He'd bought it from a cheap muggle shop, during the time they were on sale. It doubled as a thin scarf, shielding his neck from the wind. The designs on it were neat too. Black and white stars and flowers. Wearing it made him feel pretty.

His fingers knotted in it as he waited. Unknotted. Knotted again. He could feel something in his chest growing tighter as the crowd begun to press around him. It was making it hard to breathe. Hard to keep knotting the mask.

Draven popped a push pin between his lips, closing his eyes. He'd figured out a couple months before that having something in his mouth helped him when the world started pressing too closed. It was something to focus on other than the noise and the heat and the people. He reveled in the feeling of plastic against his tongue, the edges of the push pin sliding over his teeth. He could have put his earplugs (that's what muggles called them) in, but he didn't want to miss the train coming into the station. They were fantastic though. Blocked out the noise. Made the world feel as if it was behind a glass wall, and allowed him to remove himself from it.

He focused on the push pin and on breathing. If he moved his tongue just right, he could get the metal part of the push pin between his teeth, and have it pressing against the skin underneath. He could bring his teeth against it too. It helped stop him from clenching his jaw, biting down on something else. He didn't need tension headaches. Though he supposed sleeping with something between his teeth every night was a lot more dangerous than waking up with a headache.

He'd have to ask the nurse. When he saw the nurse. If the train ever came.

But if he'd fucked up the date and time, so had everyone else. There were dozens of people waiting on the platform now, all clutching at their carts anxiously. The last few stragglers were running at full speed through the brick wall, first years stumbling through with a look of terror frozen on their faces. They were loud. Some were wearing muggle clothes. Baggy jeans and crop tops. Others had already changed into their robes. No one was wearing masks anymore.

Draven pulled the push pin from between his lips, setting it back in his pocket and climbing to his feet. The train would be arriving any minute, judging by the way everyone had gathered around the boarding area. He didn't have a watch, and he didn't care to check. Time was irrelevant in waiting areas. The train came when it came, and he intended to get an empty compartment when it did.

His fingers had turned white on the straps of his bag. He focused on breathing. On air filling his lungs and expanding his chest. He imagined it passing through the tight knot in his stomach and loosening it.

He was still cold. His back still hurt. As did his wrists and his jaw and his head. But as the train huffed and hissed into the station, steam cascading from underneath it, Draven felt something in his head go quiet.