Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
THE SONG OF SOLOMON
Chapter 14: The Transit
He had been told to come here in the middle of a chess game, an almost airy announcement from his opponent that the time had come.
If it hadn't been for Albus Dumbledore already winning the set, Gellert Grindelwald could have sworn that the statement had been a deliberate attempt to stall the moves.
Gellert had been indifferent. He knew their soon-to-be neighbor had also been the owner of the Elder Wand, but that hardly defined the right sort to mingle with. It had always been a mystery to him why Draco Malfoy had so much worth. Albus had died for him, after all.
He had voiced his indignation, of course, but was only responded by that infuriating twinkle in the eye. It explained why he found himself on the second floor of the train station, waiting for the next group of Arrivals. His present company was a sole black moth that Albus had conjured without explanation; it had refused to leave him, its shiny dark wings fluttering left and right on his shoulders.
Old git.
Gellert chuckled as he pulled back the blond curls from his smooth features; the same giddiness led him to reach down and feel the floor underneath his chair.
Ah. Still there.
The faint echo of footsteps told him that the man he was expecting had arrived. The lobby was suddenly flooded with people of all sorts, their confused faces incessantly scrutinizing their own skin and that of their companions. The travelers were dressed for different seasons, some naked, some so bundled up that they could hardly move. Many were also wounded or disabled, smeared with blood or missing limbs; they struggled on still, their journey to the platform a strange and painful sight to behold. There were occasional exceptions, those who had simply suffered too many mutilations to move on, who, like that bloody child under his chair, had lost their ability to transit and could not fend for their own. Their underdeveloped, often mangled bodies jolted among shuffling feet until carelessly tossed into a forgotten corner, never to be missed or rescued, never to be seen again.
Gellert stood and leaned against the railing. Through the glass dome and the long windows he could see a phantom of the Last World. It was raining.
He searched the Arrivals below him. Draco Malfoy was indeed easy to identify.
The head of silver blond hair was moving slowly among the crowd, the face flushed and gleaming with sweat. He was thickly cloaked, and the gloved hands were carrying dozens of bags and suitcases that continued to bump against other passengers.
He looked tired, somewhat younger than his actual age; it was fitting for a man whose soul had been challenged all his life. It had nevertheless survived as one, Gellert observed; Draco Malfoy had passed on as a whole being.
Albus would be proud.
Once on the platform, Draco let his burden tumble on the floor, freeing his hand to wipe off the sweat beads on his forehead. For the first time he took in the surroundings, peering curiously at the steam engine on the track until he noticed the faint chime of raindrops against glass. His lips curled into a warm smile.
The conductor gestured at him, and lazily recited the schedule and the rules. Draco made some inquiries, his eyes still intent on the water streaming down the windows. A quizzical look appeared on the conductor's face, as if he had just endured a ridiculous request; after a brief moment of hesitation he pointed at the clock with a giant pendulum at the corner. Draco nodded.
The train was ready to board. An impatient line formed on the platform behind the conductor who was checking the names on a list. An old man waited at the door to the compartment, inspecting wounds and healing them as a floating quill and parchment recorded what each passenger had decided to bring along for the final journey.
The blond observed for a while, but never made an attempt to join the file.
The golden locomotive soon began to roll, and the lobby was empty again save for a few scattered souls, those too damaged to make the first available train on time. Their bulging eyes glared at each other hungrily, their disfigured noses sniffing in the air.
Draco ignored them. He hauled the luggage to the corner of the lobby, and then, standing by one of the long windows that adorned the stone walls, he gazed through the glass into the phantom rain.
Slowly he rolled up a sleeve, grimacing as he pushed the thick layers of fabric out of the way. Gellert could see even from the distance the deep etch of the famed Dark Mark. A slender line nonetheless ran across the length, looking pure white against the black ink. Draco caressed the scar with a finger and whispered something under his breath; then, as if without a thought, as if it had been a habit for decades, he brought his forearm to his lips for a soft kiss.
Gellert's grip on the railing tightened; scenes from long ago flashed across his mind.
A young man sat, his golden locks rested on a palm, as his quill traced a pattern over and over again on a parchment. He was waiting for his lover, a handsome brunet who lived faraway in Godric's Hollow. A promise had been made between them; that one day, they would join forces to fight for The Cause.
That one day, they would be together.
Years passed; soon it became clear that the dream would never be realized. The two men had become the Night and Day of the wizarding world; the pattern, a pictograph for The Cause, an emblem of Evil. Yet for the young man it would always remain as a simple memento for a love that was never meant to be.
When his lover finally returned, he simply surrendered. His Cause. His Kingdom. The heart and divider of what symbolized him, the Elder Wand.
One could not engage in a duel that had been lost long before it began.
The next time the two met was in this train station. The crimes committed in the Last World had reduced the blond to a crippled, bleeding youngling, who could only manage a snail-paced limp towards the platform. He was ready to give in, his mind delirious with pain and exhaustion, when his blurred vision encountered a familiar gaze from the balcony above. The brunet's hair had turned silvery with age and a pair of half-moon spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, but the sparkle in the blue eyes was recognizable even from afar. Thus the child clenched his teeth and struggled on, and when he finally disembarked the fifth train, he found himself in the embrace of the other man, who took him in, washed and fed him, and shared with him the wisdom that he had failed to learn in the Last World. He still had a long way to grow, to mature, but he was not worried. They would have the rest of eternity to spend together.
He came to understand Albus' intention of asking him to be here. Draco Malfoy stood whole for the same reason Gellert could now observe him. Their destiny and choices had intertwined in more ways than one.
The peace was destroyed by the commotion caused by the few damaged souls on the platform; they had taken an interest in Draco's possessions and were encircling the blond with outstretched palms. The blond held his lips tightly sealed as his narrowed eyes glared menacingly at them, his pale features turning pink with rage and heat.
All of a sudden, the harsh defiance on the features dissipated. The man looked down and examined his clothes, bewilderment creeping onto the angular face. With the same perplexed expression, his eyes proceeded to turn towards the corner where the heap of baggage rested. Fingers reached down to work the buttons of the black woolen coat, but they refused to unfasten.
He froze briefly at the spot, heedless of the animosity simmering around him. Realization then dawned on the features.
The robbers inched closer, and this time Draco spread his arms, welcoming them to have their way. Soon the bags were all sliced open, the broken leather invaded by greedy arms fighting to snatch the contents. It was difficult to discern from the balcony what hid inside, and for a moment Gellert had reckoned them to be bottomless. Golden goblets and precious china spilled on the floor; Galleons and Sickles showered and rolled everywhere. There were even busts and portraits of men who exploded into a chorus of derogatory drawls the moment they saw light. Entwined among the objects were ribbons and knots of green and silver, and snakes that slithered by occasionally. White peacocks gathered on the handles and hooted at the top of their voice.
As the riches vanished into the bulging pockets of the looters, Draco's clothes seemed to disappear as well. When the bags were almost empty, save for the living things and the shouting artwork, the blond was clad with nothing but a sheer emerald robe. One of the hoodlums approached him, eyes intent on the luscious fabric; Draco shrugged, undressed and handed the garment over. He stood naked, his pale skin alabaster against the fading daylight.
He looked happy.
Satisfied, the looters scurried away. Once again Draco was left alone to gaze out of the window, his marked arm pressed against his bare chest, rising and falling with his steady heartbeat.
The evening was fast approaching, and the lobby dimmed with the darkening skies. A worker on the lobby level flicked a Deluminator, lighting the magnificent crystal chandeliers suspended from the arches of the glass dome. The black moth that had been perching idly on Gellert's hand instantly took flight, its dark wings beating frantically as the slender body swerved between the glistening pendants that curtained the candles.
The heat was too much. The flying became an aimless frenzy; abruptly, all action stopped. The lifeless body spiraled down from the height, landing beside the blond man still watching the rain.
Draco tilted his head automatically, a frown on the face as grey eyes searched for the origin of the deceased insect beside him.
A small movement at his feet caused his vision to return to the floor. The insect had roused from its death and was spinning unsteadily, as if it had just recovered from a drunken episode; dark wings beat unsurely and erratically for a few times before gliding into the air once more.
Lifting his eyebrows in surprise, Draco looked up again, and this time, he saw the adolescent on the balcony. As the moth traced the path between the two men who had shared a dark past, who, like the fluttering insect, had been fatally burned by light, Gellert grinned.
Draco returned a smile.
The lobby once again reverberated with the paces of the next wave of Arrivals and Draco finally took his eyes away from the rain. He pressed his lips against his forearm again, freely and deeply, unburdened from the layers of clothing that had hindered him before. For a moment his face was buried in his marked flesh, his mouth once again moving to form a soundless message; the blond lashes fluttered close and a clear line of tears slid down the cheek. When he looked up again, Gellert was surprised to find that the man was smiling, his features soft and peaceful. As he walked towards the platform, he turned back to take a last look at the rain and kiss his final farewell into the air.
The conductor snickered at Draco's unclothed state, not looking at all surprised. He found the name from the previous page and checked it off. When Draco stepped upward, the old man guarding the compartment examined the bare skin. He scowled at the sight of blackened forearm and raised his wand.
As it was about to tap on the flesh, Draco clutched the tapered end of the wooden shaft and shook his head. For a second the old man studied him closely; comprehension then took over and he gave a respectful nod. Before his ascent up the steps, however, the blond's face lit with a mischievous smirk as a slender finger pointed conspiringly at the temples. The old man laughed and waved the wand to grant his wish.
Draco finally disappeared into the compartment. As the door slid close and the boiler of the engine belched steam to the ceiling, Gellert vanished from the station in a shimmering shower of golden sparkles.
He would like Albus to know that they would have a dinner guest tonight.