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☆ Lost At The Station ☆

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If one were to look up the word 'busy' in the dictionary, right beside it would be a black and white photo of the train station. There were people in every which direction, screaming at the top of their lungs, cussing out trains, moving as quickly as they could, suitcases and briefcases everywhere you turned. It was hoodie season, but someone hadn't notified the grown-ups, for wherever you looked, your eyes landed on long expensive coats and ironed shirts, elaborate hairdos' and perfect makeup. Next to them, our young boy felt kind of inadequate. His father had forbidden him to dress in the school robes for no other reason than hating the wizarding community, and despite the half-hearted protests he'd given, Earl was a little more than thankful. The robes looked absolutely dreadful, clashing with his skin and the cotton candy hair; the hats would be a nightmare to pull off. So now, he was in the station, leaning against one of stone beams which held up the ceiling, back pressed against the sculpted stone, his thick gray sweater probably getting decades worth of dust on it. Not many people could wear white jeans and look good, yet somehow Earl managed it. His delicate fingers were folding and unfolding the train ticket he'd received, '93/4 ' having been typed on it with bold, confident lettering. The ticket knew where it was supposed to be, knew where it was going, was aware it's entire purpose in life would be to allow him passage to school. Too bad Earl didn't share its certainty. Meaning, he was utterly lost. Wide gray eyes watched the mass of people going around him, looking between the columns of platform 9 and 10 with his brow furrowed in an adorable frown (it looked cute, he'd checked), worry starting to gnaw at the insides of his stomach. Why the heck was he there alone? His father had been anxious to get back to his clocks, dropped him off and left as soon as he could, throwing a dismissive 'You'll figure it out' before Vanishing with a sweep of his trench coat, silver glasses throwing one last glint in the summer sun. His mother? Well, she was nowhere to be seen, despite having promised she'd be there. "Ayy, I'll be on time," she'd responded to his begging with an eyeroll, eating cookie batter straight out of the mixing bowl, not even having bothered with a spoon, her trashy firetruck-red boots propped up on the table, flour having somehow gotten in her multi-colored hair despite having not lifted a finger to help him. His father had given an incredulous scowl at that, pushing his glasses down his nose so he could glare at Rory Gray. "If you show up, I'll eat my hat," he'd promised. Well. It looked like his father wouldn't be eating any hats, any time soon. No one was surprised. The stab of disappointment still cut deep, making him bite his lip to stop the tears pooling in his eyes from escaping. He wouldn't cry. It wasn't anything he wasn't used to. Except there he was, yet again, alone when he needed his parents. "You lost?" a lanky looking man who was sporting a rather impressive Mohawk demanded, bending down so he'd be at eye level with Earl. "Uhm, kinda," he admitted, a nervous laugh escaping him, fingers having folded and unfolded the ticket so many times it was covered in creases, the heavy, expensive paper coming close to tearing down the middle. "Do you know how to get here?" he turned the train ticket to face the tall, dark skinned gentleman, who let out a small laugh. "Yeah I think someone trolled you," the muggle man said with a smile. "We can go look around though, if that would make you feel better." Grabbing hold of Earl's suitcase, he started walking to the wall between numbers 9 and 10, his chocolate gaze searching for any matching numbers. "Where's your mom?" he asked as they walked. "You shouldn't be here alo-" And then they saw it. A group of robed figures, pushing carts straight towards one of the brick walls, running at a breakneck speed. Both Earl and the man froze, Earl for longer than the man, because within seconds he was calling out to the figures to 'Slow down, you're gonna crash!' Except they didn't crash. They just passed straight through the wall, seeming to vanish as soon as they touched it. "Mon Dieu, you saw that too, right?" the man demanded, his words heavily overshadowed by a french accent, which had become apparent along with his surprise. Earl nodded quietly, wide eyed. That. That was interesting. "Thank you so much for your help," he said gently grabbing ahold of the trunk as not to startle the man. "I think I know where to go now." "You're not gonna try that, are you?" the guy demanded, sounding horrified and moving to block his path. "I don't know what trickery is this, but I cannot have you run straight at a wall. For all I know I'm hallucinating things. Are you real? What is life?" "I have no idea," Earl admitted. "But I think that's where I'm supposed to go." And before the stranger could protest, he'd grabbed his trunk and wheeled it over, running straight at the wall. It was the wrong wall. Three seconds passed, a great crash resounded, and he practically bounced back off the wall, a visible dent in his metal trunk, a bruise from where the handle had smacked him starting to darken on his stomach. "Well fudge," he grumbled, rubbing the sore spot with the tips of his fingers and looking up, dazed, to find a whole bunch of people looking down at him as if he'd grown two heads. And among them, the stranger. "What did I tell you?" Mohawk Man demanded, helping him top his feet and helping shake the dust out of his expensive gray jean jacket. "Sorry folks," he told the crowd. "My nephew is sort of an idiot, move along, nothing to see here. Go on, go on, whatcha lookin at Ms?" "I'm not actually your nep-" "Shhhhh!" Earl checked his pocket, making sure the silvery wand was alright, not cracked or broken or something. Wand, check. Gray scarf, check. Ticket....ticket? TICKET. "Uhm I think I dropped my-" The man handed him his ticket wordlessly, before picking the trunk up and sliding it over to him. "Okay one more try and then I'll go home," Earl promised. "Like hell am I letting you do that agai- OI WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Earl passed through the right wall this time. Well. He'd made it. Word Count: 1387

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