Home Is You | l.s.

2

(Harry's point of view)

I'm startled awake when the engine of the train stops and the cart jerks. I fly forward in a panic, my knees hitting the table and my head hitting the padded seat. I breathe in deeply and focus on the commotion around me. The soldiers start to get out of their seats and into a line.

I uncurl myself from the corner and scoot out of the booth into the end of the line. I follow the men out as they exit the cart orderly. I rub at my eyes and let out a small yawn as I move forward, stumbling a bit from fatigue.

It's pitch black when we exit the cart, and the air smells of smoke and ash. You can hear the sound of cannons and gun shots nearby. I make my way down the train steps and pull my coat tighter around myself. I pull the sleeves around my hands and duck my head into the collar. The bitter cold nips at my cheeks and nose as I walk through the station behind the other men.

The soldier in front of me stops abruptly, my body stumbling forward into his back. He turns to glare at me before he scoffs and faces forward again. I return his glare, furrowing my eyes and straightening up. At this point the entire line of men has stopped moving. Everything is still in the cold night.

I take a tentative step to the side and glance around to the front of the line. I freeze when I see an officer at the front of the line, much like the one from the other station. He's holding a piece of paper and a pen as he moves from soldier to soldier. He asks for their names one by one and checks them in as he goes.

I step back into line quickly and shakily breath in. I know my name's not on that list. I'm not part of this regiment. By rule, they are not allowed to accept me into this camp. Every soldier must stay with their regiment at all times. No outsiders are permitted into the group for any reason.

The best thing that could happen in this situation is that I get sent back on the train to the other station. If the officer isn't particularly forgiving then I will not get off very easily. Worst case, I will be punished severely, which could mean death if he decides it.

My heart beats faster as I start to near the front of the line. The man in front of me starts forward, only three others in front of him. My hands start to shake as I stalk forward with them. I shove them into my pockets and breathe in deeply, hoping to calm my racing thoughts. The officer keeps his eyes on the paper as we move. Before I know it, I'm standing right in front of him, and my nerves are at an all time high.

"Name, Private?" he asks, continuing his writing. I will my voice not to shake as I answer his question.

"Styles," I say as confidently as I can. I look straight ahead as he glances up at me, then at the paper. He makes a ticking noise with his tongue as he flips the paper over, undoubtedly looking for my name. He frowns at the sheet for a moment, glancing at me again. He tucks the paper into the pocket of his uniform as he crosses his arms over his chest. He stares me up and down and shifts a bit before speaking.

"You're not on this list, Private. I'm afraid that doesn't do you any favors." I start to sweat as he walks around me. "You wanna tell me where you're supposed to be?" he questions.

I gulp as I rack my brain for a response. "I don't understand, sir. I'm part of this regiment," I lie, faking a tone of confusion. The officer glares at me before he leans in close.

"I don't believe you," he growls into my ear. I shiver and pull away slightly shifting from foot to foot. The action signals a sign of uncertainty and nervousness and I curse myself, knowing the officer will notice. I freeze when I feel the tip of his gun press into my lower back.

"I'm gonna give you one more chance to tell me the truth, Private," he whispers into my ear, pressing the barrel into my back harder,"What the hell are you doing here?"