Dumbledore was waiting for a train. The station was white and reminded him a bit of kings cross-station. Ah, yes he was dead. In light of recent events such a deed could be considered rather forgivable.
The head master smiled a little and looked around. Something felt wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He didn't know he should be meeting Harry. He didn't know what had happened to the boy. Albus Dumbledore was an old man with too many regrets.
A train would be arriving soon. He couldn't say for certain where it would lead him. Perhaps he would meet a congenial Spectre of death or finally be held accountable for his crimes. He had been having the strangest dreams about a death god with a rather large knife. Then again he hadn't slept in a very long time. He couldn't sleep here. All he could do was wait.
The story had come to an end. He'd lost.
His memories flittered through time. Staying awake to look up at the stars. His sister, his friend, and the boy all lost. Did the boy know he had his mother's eyes? Did Severus ever get to meet Lily? How had he let himself become this?
Tom never understood what it was like to love. Albus did. These tears fell uncertainly nonetheless. Albus didn't understand where they came from. Albus was alone in the end. He still didn't understand.
Two young men old enough to watch the world burn, 1942. Blood soaked soil, torn up snow, enough dead, and almost enough memories. The snowflakes didn't touch Albus. Where was love and justice then?
"Albus"
The ancient wizard turned around to see who had spoken. It was a familiar voice and it belonged to such a familiar face. In death he was younger then Dumbledore. He was as young as when they had first embraced.
"Grindelwald", murmured Albus.
The ancient wizard attempted to hide any reaction to this surprise appearance behind a mask of politeness. It wasn't working.
"You haven't aged a day", said the blonde haired wizard with a smile.
Albus nodded politely and tried to think of the appropriate thing to say to his special friend. A volatile mixture of animosity, regret, and lingering affection was stirring within Albus. Then it came to him. He knew what to say and how to express all these things he's felt through all the years. Albus opened his mouth to-
"Excuse me", came a different voice.
This voice belonged to an attractive young man with brown hair. He was wearing a blue shirt, dark trousers held up by suspenders, brown boots and an RAF great coat.
"Could you please tell me where I am?"
Dumbldore gave a genial smile. The unresolved sexual tention between him and his de aged erstwhile lover temporarily forgotten.
"That depends", began the ancient wizard, "Where do you think we are?"
"Looks like a train station", replied Jack Harkness.
"I suppose it does", said Dumbledore thoughtfully.
Their polite conversation was quickly derailed when a young blonde woman appeared. She was wearing bright colorful clothing and looked very very tired.
"Not again", she groaned.
It doesn't matter whether you are a Wizard, a vampire hunter or a Senshi. Resurrection sickness is a bitch.
