Serendipity: All Needs Met. All Desires Fulfilled.
Summary: Four people damaged by war and circumstance find solace in the unlikeliest of places.
In which preparations are made. Warning for Character death.
Chapter 3: Intermission
The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside ~Homer, the Iliad
How long he had been staring at the platform clock, Albus had no idea, but the long hand was still resolutely pointing to two minutes to the hour. He considered getting up, to stretch his legs for a bit, but there seemed little point in moving from the hard, wooden bench he was currently occupying. He'd explored every inch of the station--if that's what it was--many times over. The parts to which he was allowed access, anyway.
The place appeared to be deserted: the notice in the ticket and information office window was perpetually hanging on the 'Position closed' side, and he could detect no movement in the darkened room beyond. Next to it, the roller shutter under the garishly painted images of pork pies, sandwiches and other tempting delicacies, barred him from sampling the sustenance within. Albus had tried banging his fist against the metal a few times, but no one had responded; the buffet bar, it seemed, having no inclination to open for the platform's only occupant. The same was true of the newsagent, which was the greatest pity, as a paper or a book of crossword puzzles would have done much to relieve the tedium. Of the way out, there was no sign.
When he had first arrived, Albus had alternated between the bench near the clock and the small waiting room, but he had soon tired of the depressing brown paintwork, the empty grate and the posters advertising days out to destinations he would now never see. On the whole, he'd found he preferred sitting in the open air--if indeed there was any air, or that there was any further need to breathe, for that matter. His chest moved, he noticed, out of habit, most probably, but he hadn't tried stopping. That would be one less thing to do in this god-forsaken place.
Where was the train? If it was running late, why had there been no announcements apologising for the delay? Albus swivelled around to his right, looking up the line for a change. Now and again, when the mists swirled, he could just make out a signal box at the point where the track curved out of sight, the signal outside it frozen at right angles to its post. No train was due, according to that. Albus had tried to get to the small wooden shed once, to see if it was manned, but an invisible barrier kept him from jumping off the platform. So, he had very quickly ascertained that there was nowhere to go, nothing to do, other than sit and wait.
All things considered, Albus had expected the afterlife to be... Well, a lot more exciting than this, quite frankly. His portrait in Hogwarts was probably having a wild time in comparison. He was beginning to wonder if this was some kind of punishment--purgatory, even, and had started to review his life. Merlin knew he wasn't a saint: he had made mistakes, some of which he bitterly regretted, but in his later years, Albus felt he had, on balance, done what was right. 'Heaven knows, it wasn't easy.'
Sighing, Albus shifted in his seat, arranging his cloak around him with his good hand. He noted with some concern that it was looking increasingly translucent, and the thought occured to him that he might be doomed to wait here until he faded away completely. 'If there is something I need to do to atone for any wrong I may have committed, I will gladly do it,' he said eventually, in the hope that someone was listening. 'I know I used people ruthlessly when I saw fit and, with hindsight, there are some things I would have done differently...' The image of Severus Snape came to mind. He had certainly manipulated that boy to serve his own ends. 'I hope you survived, Severus,' he murmured. 'I would like to think you are happy, now you are free of both Tom and me.' Albus glanced at the clock, yet again. This was becoming a nervous tic. 'If anyone deserves peace, it's you.'
With a resounding clunk that ricocheted around the empty space, the long hand moved one minute closer to the hour. Albus stared at it and swallowed hard. 'I'm sorry.'
From up the line, another loud clang echoed in the silence as the signal dropped. Albus stood shakily and peered up and down the platform, realising that he didn't know from which direction the train would appear--or, perhaps more importantly, which direction it was heading. As he contemplated the ramifications, the rails began to sing, leaving him in no doubt that he was about to find out, and by way of confirmation, he heard, in the distance, the unmistakeable sound of a whistle blowing...
And then, out of the mists, it appeared from around the bend behind the signal box. A cold fear clutched at his heart.
'The Down train, then.'
Precisely on the hour, the steam locomotive chuffed into the station, belching steam as it slowed to a halt. Albus watched the carriages pass him: one, two, three... He was aware of shadowed figures inside, but could make out very little detail. Finally, the door at the end the fourth carriage stopped opposite him, and he waited with some trepidation for it to open. The window was duly pushed down, and a hand reached out to grasp the door handle. He took a step backwards as the door swung out, and a cloaked figure alighted, moving towards him.
'Ah, there you are, Albus.' The hood was thrown back.
'Molly? What in Merlin's name are you doing here? Didn't you survive the battle?'
'Yes, I did.' Molly laughed. 'But people die all the time, you know.' She gave him a quick hug. 'Heart attack. About two years ago, earth time.'
'How long has it been...?' Albus murmured.
Molly put her hands on her hips. 'Too long. Well, enough moping around. We have work to do.'
'Work?' Albus asked, glancing at the open carriage door.
'Not here,' Molly replied. She pursed her lips at Albus' confused expression. 'It seems the living can't help but make a mess of things. I turn my back for a moment, and my whole family goes to pot. Arthur's got his Muggle contraptions in bits all over my kitchen table, our resident ghoul reliably informs me, and he never does the washing up until he runs out of cups! He needs looking after, that's for sure. And as for Ronald...' Molly tutted and shook her head. 'He did the honourable thing, marrying Hermione, but they were never right for each other, and--'
'What does this have to do with me?' Albus butted in as Molly paused for breath.
'Why, Severus, of course.'
Albus looked at her blankly, and she huffed in annoyance. 'I'll explain as we go,' Molly said, taking Albus' arm. 'Your Charms and Transfiguration skills will be invaluable, and I've enlisted some help--you won't believe it when I tell you--and, well...' They walked towards the barrier, which had magically appeared between the ticket office and the buffet. 'You and I, Albus, are going to sort the lot of them out, one way or another...'