The steam billows like white satin curtains, and I'm thankful for the chaos that hides us. Rowan and I stand hand in hand, small and alone on our own isolated island. The gleaming scarlet train seems to glow insubstantially through the mist across the platform. Platform nine and three quarters, that is. This sort of thing hadn't existed in our world – at least, officially – until two months ago.
The brick wall is cold against our backs as we survey the ghostly bustle of mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers all hugging and kissing goodbye. It looks like some sort of fantastic dance, the moisture flowing and filling gaps as bright colours and forms touch and break away with constant, swirling movements. Next to us, a boy with scruffy brown hair desperately tries to untangle himself from his weeping mother's arms. I hear him mutter grumpily, "Go away mum!"
…I wish we had a mum.
Nobody notices us.
Then, through the flurries something catches my eye. Another remote isle briefly appears out of the fog, its sole inhabitant a pale young boy with dark hair. He is standing, quite unaffected by the noise around him, simply staring at everything with a peculiar expression. I've always been good at sensing other's emotions – it must come from being so attuned to my twin's facial expressions. I can identify curiosity, excitement, even a small dash of amazement in the boy's face, but no sense of apprehension, even though he appears unaccompanied.
I feel a small tug of admiration. I've never found anyone who's quite at the same level as me in terms of… I dunno. No one has ever been really like me. I've never had that sort of connection with another person. Of course, I have Rowan, and I love him, but he's my twin. My brother, possibly my only relation in the entire world. Depressing thought. I examine the weird boy again, looking for the sake of it.
There. Right there. In just a tiny tightening around his eyes, a light crease in his forehead, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth… is greed? Not quite what I was looking for, but interesting regardless.
Then the boy turns and catches my eye. His face immediately clears. He nods politely. Huh. I slowly return the gesture, my eyes cautiously fixed on his until he breaks the contact, uncomfortably turning his gaze elsewhere. Huh.
I turn back to Rowan, about to say something about the odd kid, but Rowan's face is bright red, and he's gasping. I jump and fumble through his backpack for his inhaler. Dammit. Please please please don't have an asthma attack, Row! We just really don't need it right now!
I finally find the piece of plastic and shove it in his mouth. Breathe! Breathe, damn you! Breathebreathebreathe BREATHE –"
I'm fine, Alex! Stop it! I'm okay.
Rowan sucks in a few deep breaths and I slump in relief. He grins at me and puts away the inhaler as his face slowly regains its normal pallor. "You don't need to react like a stepped-on chicken whenever I get a bit wheezy."
Why not? I love it when you have a FREAKING asthma attack! It's SO much fun when you almost die, like –"
"Okay okay okay, I understand," Rowan placates me. And he does understand. Like I said before, he's the only person who is mine, and I'm the only person who is his. There's no one else who will look after us, so we look after each other. I would be lost without him.
"C'mon, let's get on the train," Rowan says. Let's get on; The Train.
Capital letters – in my mind at least.
"OH MY GOD!" I scream. The people closest to us flinch and look around, but I'm already excitedly running after Rowan, somewhat hampered by my bulky trunk, but running nonetheless.
I'm still jumping and shrieking as Rowan precariously balances on a seat while he tries to shove his trunk onto the racks above. I just dump mine on the floor, continuing with my mad dance around the compartment.
We're going to Hogwarts, we're going to Hogwarts, we're going to Hogwarts –
"Ooof! Shut up Alex," Rowan scowls at me, rubbing his head after his tumble from the seats.
"Awww, c'mon Row!" I plead cheekily. "We're going to learn to be freaking fairies!"
"Don't be stupid Alex, we're going somewhere to learn how to control our… magic. To learn how to control ourselves. We are going to school." With that, he drops onto a seat and pulls out a book with a determined look on his face.
I sigh, sit opposite him and look out the window at the muffled colours outside. I sneakily glance at him, then quietly… A school for fairies.
"Stop that!" Rowan snaps at me. He stands up and stabs his finger at me as he continues angrily, "That is exactly why we are going. To stop – to stop…" this.
I jump upright too. "But what if I don't want to stop it?" I retort.
"Alex! This thing we have, this magic we have, it's dangerous! We can't use it, we can't even control it! Who knows what disaster we could cause next?" We are standing practically nose-to-nose as he throws his hands up at the conclusion of his rant.
I fly backwards. I slam into the compartment wall, smacking my head. I stay pinned there for a few seconds as my brother's expression changes from fury to horror. He staggers backwards and collapses weakly into his seat. As his anger vanishes, so do my invisible bonds. I fall messily to the floor. I drag myself back onto my seat and touch my tender head. It doesn't hurt that bad. We sit in silence. Even so, I almost miss Rowan's small whimper.
"I just don't want to hurt anyone…" Again.
A whistle blows, and the final stragglers clamber onto the train. The last minute hugs and kisses and reminders and promises are exchanged and the train slowly starts to chug. I feel the vibrations underneath my feet and they seem to match the thumping of my heart.
Yeah. Again.
I hug Rowan as he relives the worst moment of his life. Although, while I feel a great deal of sympathy for him, I can't find any empathy. When you can mentally talk and practically read each other's minds, you would think that there would be a whole lot of empathy to be found. But I don't understand why he is still so upset over what happened. I did things too. Bad things, but I don't regret them. They were things that just had to be done. I don't care if stupid Ruth Oliver was hurt – she deserved it. I look out for me and my own, which is actually only Rowan, but he needs someone to take care of him.
The train steadily gains speed, until we finally clear the platform. As it vanishes behind us I stand.
"I have to go to the bathroom," I announce, and I feel a sense of pride when Rowan raises his face and it is unmarked by tears. He's tougher than you give him credit for.
I trip over my feet and into the hallway, eager to escape the strained tension in the compartment. The entire carriage has a very classical décor, I note as I stagger down the wildly jerking hall, using the walls to balance. I peer curiously into other compartments as I go along. Various sights meet my eyes. A group of quite unremarkable girls laughing about something; boys competing to see who could fit the most jelly beans their mouths. A couple pashing. Wait, what?
Ew.
But yes, there was lots of polished wood and green paint, which at one point must be been extremely tasteful. At the end of the carriage, I meet a dark, wood-panelled door. I stick my head in, and frown. The growling of the train instantly intensifies about ten times. I cover my ears. No bathroom here. A man in stained overalls is standing in the small, greasy room. He's so filthy himself that I almost don't spot him – he blends right in. A giant window dominates the wall, and I catch a glimpse of countryside racing past.
Covering the wall in front of him below the smeared window, are multiple levers and buttons and dials and whirring what-nots. Damn. That's a lot of controls.
"Excuse me," I shout. No response.
"Excuse me!" Nil. How he can stand the level of sound in here is beyond me.
Fine then. I struggle to reach out to his mind. I mentally scream, Excuse me!
Aha; Result! The man finally notices me. He jolts rather violently, and looks around in confusion before he sees me. He looks astonished, I have no idea why.
Ya? Gee, he doesn't sound too friendly.
Could you please tell me where the bathroom is? I start jiggling up and down as the man stares at me.
Dow' te udda end of da carriage, on ye left.
Thank you sir.
He grins at me widely, and I catch a glimpse of a grossly mutilated tongue behind rotting gravestone teeth.
Na prob'lm.
"Uh, goodbye!" I say quickly. As I leave, I hear a choked, half-strangled attempt at a laugh.
Shuddering, I rattle back down the hall, keen to put some distance between me and that creepy driver. He had been weird. No doubt about it. But… what was it that had really freaked me out? Sure, he had been absolutely filthy, and he spoke funny, and not to mention up absolutely disgusting his tongue had been…
His tongue.
Ooooooooo… No way. No freaking way.