Peripheral characters were created by me, but all recognizable names and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. A few historical figures also appear; they obviously belong to themselves. The concept of being "dim," which appears in this chapter, belongs to Stephen King.
Chapter Five: The Wizard on the Platform
They left the Leaky Cauldron at two-thirty. After he had paid the check, Albus said to Hagrid, "Rubeus--I don't suppose you still have the pieces of your wand?"
Hagrid blushed and nodded. He looked furtively around the empty bar, then opened his cloak and pointed to a fuchsia-pink umbrella. "They're in here, sir," he mumbled.
Albus gave the umbrella a perplexed look. "Isn't that Mireille's?" he said finally.
"Yes sir, it was," stammered Hagrid. "It was her idea to keep the wand pieces inside it. She said she didn't need an umbrella, that her plants liked a good soaking now an' then, and so did she."
"I see," said Albus. He shook his head and smiled. "Well, come on then. We've got one more stop in Diagon Alley to make."
Hagrid looked bewildered when they stopped in front of a shop whose awning read Zonko's Jokery • London • Paris • Hogsmeade. "Professor, if yeh've got an errand here, surely it can wait?" he said in an uncertain voice.
"Trust me, this is a necessary stop. Wait here. I won't be long," replied Albus. He went inside, made a purchase, and was out again quickly. He wanted to clear Aldwych of the Muggles who would be sheltering there. The Germans had ceased sending planes to drop bombs on London; now they were sending V2s, the rocket bombs which in their way were more devastating and frightening than the Blitz of previous years, falling as they did without warning from a clear sky. As darkness descended, more and more people would crowd into the station, Albus knew, seeking shelter and the illusion of safety underground; but for now there shouldn't be too many people to clear out.
Albus was still dim; though anyone with magical powers could see him as they normally did, Muggles would take no notice of him. Before leaving Diagon Alley, he made Hagrid dim as well. A man his size was surely better unnoticed in the streets of wartime London. They took the Underground to Holborn, Hagrid complaining all the way about the seats that he couldn't quite fit into.
From Holborn, they walked several blocks over to the small red brick building which housed the Aldwych station. It looked so everyday-London in the waning light of a February afternoon. Albus felt a chill run through his blood, a thrill of terror that even in daylight, just under the surface of something so ordinary and unthreatening, things could be so horribly, monstrously wrong.
Pushing away the fear that was creeping slowly along the edges of his mind, and swallowing down the bolt of nausea that accompanied it, Albus entered the station, Hagrid trailing behind him. This area, at street level, was deserted. He paused near the closed ticket office with it green tiles and oak woodwork, and fished about in the pockets of his robe. He brought out three small packages wrapped in brown paper and bound with string, and handed one to Hagrid.
"Here," he said. "Put these up your nose."
Hagrid looked puzzled again but complied. Opening his package, he found what looked like two small mothballs. After another bemused glance at Albus, he pushed one up each nostril. "Smells a bit like lilac," he said, sniffing. "I can breathe through em, all righ'. But what's it for, Professor?"
"They're called Breatheasies," replied Albus more cheerfully than he felt. "I picked up some stink bombs in the joke shop to clear out the Muggles for at least an hour or two. Hate to do this to them, but they're better off if they're not here for this." Because Grindelwald wouldn't mind knocking off a few just for fun and games, he thought. A little appetizer before his main course: filet of Dumbledore.
"But couldn't yeh just use a Confundus charm or summat, Professor?" asked Hagrid.
Albus shook his head. "Too risky with so many people at once. This way is better. It won't cause enough panic to start a stampede that might hurt someone--just enough discomfort to make them want to clear out quickly."
He put his own Breatheasies up his nose, then opened the other, larger package. Two rows of six stink-bombs lay like small brown quail eggs, nestled in excelsior. He picked one up and dropped it on the floor, where it broke open. Albus dug one Breatheasy halfway out of his nose, replacing it quickly as the odor assailed him. It was a ghastly combination of rotten eggs, spoiled fish, boiled cabbage and troll dung. Hagrid tested the air as well, gagging as he shoved the Breatheasy back up his nose. Albus grinned; for a brief moment, all thoughts of the ordeal ahead were forgotten and he was the mischievous schoolboy he'd been years ago.
"If that doesn't clear them out, I don't know what would," he snickered. "Come on."
They entered the lift as it opened before them, Albus palming another stink bomb. The few Muggles who had been on the lift exited towards the ticket-station; just as the door closed and the lift began its descent, they heard cries of "Ugh! What IS that smell?" and the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. They reached the bottom of the shaft, and Albus let the stink bomb in his hand drop just outside the doors of the lift.
In the concourse that ran to Platform One, Albus dropped four more bombs; he took two more from the box, then stashed it back in his pocket before entering the platform. When they walked in, people were already beginning to look about for the source of the smell that was drifting in from the concourse.
About sixty people were on the platform. Some slept in ragged blankets; others sat in groups, talking or eating. Some had makeshift hot plates and had begun making their tea. Albus saw one little girl in a patched skirt and pink sweater embroidered with strawberries; she was playing with a doll which was missing one of its button eyes.
He dropped the last two stink bombs onto the track.
The reaction was instantaneous. People yelped and struggled to their feet. There were metallic thunks as teakettles fell to the ground and were kicked several feet as everyone hurried toward the exit. Those who had been sleeping sat up in confusion, then began squirming hastily out of their tangled blankets. The little girl went by, clasped in her mother's arms; she was crying, stretching her arms backward, screaming, "Dolly!" Albus followed her glance and saw with a pang that her rag doll had been left behind on the platform.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered, directing his wand at the doll through a pocket of his cloak. The doll flew through the air, unnoticed by the distracted Muggles, and landed in the little girl's outstretched hands. She blinked in astonishment, then laughed joyfully. Albus saw her clutch it close to her chest just before she disappeared from sight onto the concourse.
Once the platform was clear of people, Albus and Hagrid picked their way through the debris and walked through the concourse again. Now that nothing remained to distract him, Albus felt the adrenaline begin rushing through him again. He breathed steadily, but was no use. The fear would not be subdued. This, thought Albus, is how Ted must have felt when the beaches were in sight last June. And soon--very soon, in fact--I may be as dead as he is.
Poor Mireille--how would she stand losing a husband as well as a brother? In some ways, mused Albus, war was harder on the women left behind than on the soldiers who went into battle. At least in battle, you were facing the enemy head-on and doing something--anything--to stave off the fear. The mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts, could do nothing but wait. In the meantime, they had to go on making dinner, washing dishes, doing the marketing, coping as best they could with the dread which was always there, like someone hanging about and looking over your shoulder while you were trying to work.
"What now, Professor?" Hagrid's voice broke into Albus's thoughts.
"We'll go to the abandoned platform," replied Albus. "Grindelwald didn't specify where we should meet him, but if my instincts are right, the tunnel to Gringotts will be somewhere in the disused section. And if it's not," he finished in a grim voice, "he'll find us."
They turned into a dark side passage, ending up at a metal door, which Albus tapped with his wand, murmuring "Alohomora." The heavy door swung closed with a creak behind them. They took the Breatheasies from their nose with relief.
It was dark on the disused platform, and Albus illuminated the end of his wand. He caught his breath as it revealed a figure, leaning against the shadowed wall, about twenty steps away from them. Albus's heart, already racing, began pounding so hard against his ribs that it hurt. As they approached, the figure unfolded its arms and uncrossed its legs, straightening up in a movement at once lazy and lithe. The other wizard stepped into the light of Albus's wand, and he saw with shock that it wasn't Grindelwald, but a handsome, dark-haired young man who had left Hogwarts only the year before.
"Tom! What are you doing here?" he said automatically. Behind him, he heard Hagrid's breath expelled in an angry hiss.
He was so taken aback at seeing Tom Riddle that it took him a second to register why Tom was here. Then it hit him. "So you're Grindelwald's second. Oh, Tom," he said sadly, "I had hoped for better things from you."
Riddle's eyes narrowed. "If good chooses to ally itself with incompetents and half-wits," he said, looking over Albus's shoulder at Hagrid, "then yes, I prefer to side with evil, if that's how you wish to think of it." He laughed, his mouth twisted in a sneer.
Albus felt Hagrid startle, then take a step forward. He kept his eyes on Riddle, but held up a hand in warning. "No, Rubeus," he said. "This is not the confrontation we are here for."
"But, Professor," began Hagrid, "this lyin', sneakin', framin' little--"
"No, Rubeus." Hagrid fell silent.
His eyes still steadily on Riddle, Albus said, "I can't say that I agree with your choice, Tom; but neither can I say that it surprises me. You always had considerable talent; but it seems a shame that this is how you choose to use it."
"Bugger my choices, and bugger your self-righteousness," said Riddle coldly. "I have my reasons for doing what I do."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," replied Albus, one eyebrow raised. "And thus it seems we are at a stalemate." He cocked his head, then said teasingly, "So this is what you've been doing since you left school. No wonder you never sent a reply owl in for the alumnus section of the school newspaper."
Riddle eyed him sullenly, not answering.
"Speaking of which," continued Albus, forcing his tone to remain light and casual, "I don't suppose you know why Grindelwald was interested in locating Hogwarts?"
A peculiarly nasty smile crossed Riddle's lips. "Oh, it wasn't Hogwarts he was looking for," he said.
"No?" asked Albus. "I was under the impression that he sent Rudolf Hess in a plane to find it."
"Begging your pardon, Professor, sir, but you're misinformed. He sent Hess to find Hogsmeade."
Albus's heart skipped a beat as his eyes closed against the vision that filled his head. Suddenly he knew, with a horrible conviction, why Grindelwald had wanted to find Hogsmeade. Please, please, let Mireille have gotten my owl, he prayed silently. Let her have gone to her parents'.
He forced himself to open his eyes and look Riddle in the eye again. "And where might your master be now?" he asked in a low and deadly voice.
With another languid movement, Riddle brought out his wand and illuminated it, directing its dim light to the far end of the platform. "Right over there."
Gustavus Grindelwald stood there, a smug and dangerous smile on his lips. Bound to him, helpless and completely restrained, was Mireille Dumbledore.