➵ Choice ➵ {DM and HP)

➵ Chapter 2 ➵

Eloise Foster

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I've always hated crowded places.

People in general disgust me. All their conflicting emotions make them hazardous, dangerous creatures. Jealousy and rage fester within everyone, and by engaging with people, you get one step closer to unlocking that dormant rage. 

So, naturally, being in crowds is suffocating. You can almost smell the worries of their lives emanating from their bodies. The worries meld together into one heavy cloud of sadness and desperation. People jostle each other, each claiming their route is more important, that they need to break free. It's important to walk with purpose, because if you don't, you could drown in the ocean of people.

The crowd doesn't care about me. They don't care about the fifteen year old girl who stands with the her trolley and her meowing cat, bracing herself against their emotions. They wouldn't care if I dropped dead right there, they'd barely bat an eyelash. I don't matter to them. So why should they matter to me? Why should I willingly put myself in a throng of people who don't care a wit about me?

I shouldn't. 

But contrary to my wishes, here I stand, in the middle of Kings Cross station, people pushing past me all in different directions. I see flashes of their faces, a woman carries a baby, its cries hurting my ears, a man with a balding spot checks his watch as he pushes people out of the way, a black haired girl with chocolate skin around my age pushes a trolley with an owl perched in a cage on top, a woman...

My head snaps to the right, following the girl with my eyes. Little unusual for a girl to have an owl....

I push my trolley forward, following her. I glance down at my ticket as I do so, and see I'm looking for platform 9 3/4. I'm not surprised by the unnatural number, I expected something along these lines. I continue to follow the dark haired girl, hoping she'll lead me to the platform, so I don't have to do my own looking. 

We weave in and out of the columns, and I pull up short when I see her stop in front of the column reading nine and ten. She then gives her trolley a great push, heading straight at the column and just as I think she'll crash straight into the solid brick wall, she disappears. I blink in surprise at the column and look around to see if anyone else had noticed. 

The people walk past me in a never ending river, oblivious to what had just happened. I look back at the column and set my jaw in determination. I give my trolley a great push, earning an annoyed hiss from my orange tabby, Goose. I head straight for the column, ignoring the blaring sirens in my mind screaming how bad of an idea this is. As my trolley is about to make contact with the brick wall, I squeeze my eyes anticipating the impact.  But instead of a solid wall, I feel a small breeze tickle my face. 

I open my eyes and I let out a small gasp. In front of me sits a sleek black and red train, it's sides gleaming like the sun. A giant cloud of steam emanates from the front of the train, covering the whole platform in a thin layer of white. I follow the trail of steam up with my eyes and see a large sign reading, Platform 9 3/4. My eyes fall back to the train and I see its cars seeming to stretch on forever, a line of windows and waving kids. 

People fill this platform as well, and the sounds of rolling trolleys and chattering people fill the air. But things seem a little calmer than Kings Cross. People still bustle around, but they try to avoid hitting your shoulder, or running over your foot. I push my trolley forward, looking for a luggage drop. I pass many students hugging their parents tightly, tears running down their faces. I feel the sense of emptiness in my heart as I watch the caring families, crying at the separation. I try to tear my eyes off of these scenes but it doesn't quench the sadness and hollowness within. I'll never get that teary goodbye, or even that caring hug. I'll just be alone. Every single time.