A/N: Hello readers. It's been a while and this finally came out of my muse. The bitch was kind of holding out on me, so please don't hurt me.
*Ducks inanimate objects and rotten vegetables.*
*Brushes herself off* Anyway, hope you enjoy it.
Year 8045, 7th of January:
"You want me to WHAT?" the man/archangel, Ezekiel, exclaimed incredulously. "Are you mad?!"
He stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the being looking at him with more than a little amusement. He halted for a minutes to glower at the humanoid form commonly known as Death, or when he liked to mess with people, he was known as Azra'eil Malak al-Maut, for daring to smirk in amusement. Then resumed his pacing, agitated and grumbled about immortal beings with nothing but time on their hands and other not-so-nice adjectives about them.
Ezekiel sighed and decided to flop gracefully in the chair in front of Azra'eil's desk. He scowled fiercely at him and crossed his arms in indignation. "I'm glad this amuses you," he sneered. "Why couldn't Harry do it? He is, after all, our main representative to the other departments."
"He has," Azra'eil replied dryly. "Thirty times, in fact," he shook his head in exasperation. "Even having the 'Golden Trio' together for the task exacerbates the problem."
Ezekiel sputtered, eyes wide in shock. "You're serious?"
He nodded with a grimace and answered. "Think the Big Bang, but more catastrophic. Like Armageddon bad, or Ragnarök if you will."
Ezekiel gaped. "Thirty times!" he exclaimed. He just couldn't wrap his mind around it.
Sighing, the immortal being opened a drawer to pull out a full, unopened bottle of Firewhiskey and two simple, medium sized tumblers. He poured one finger of the amber liquid.
"I know," he agreed before knocking back the shot and poured another to knock this one as well with barely a grimace.
Gesturing to the other glass as an offer of hospitality, Ezekiel accepted, though he would normally decline. As it was, this was looking to be one of those times as he took the glass. Especially with Azra'eil rarely, if ever, partook in alcohol; these ones were forty times stronger than those from Midgard.
Summoning the corked liqueur to him and poured two fingers worth before banishing it back to the desk. "So…?" he took a small sip, feeling the liquid burn its way down his throat. "Why me?" He leaned back knowing this was going to be a long discussion, if he had anything to say about it.
Pouring himself three fingers worth, took only a sip this time, thinking about the an answer. Azra'eil exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Because you are the key," he answered cryptically. "The one to lead along with Michael."
Rolling his eyes. "Really?" Ezekiel drawled, taking a small pull. "How…delightful."
Azra'eil shrugged. "Well that, and you understand."
Ezekiel scrunched his face in confusion. "Understand what?"
Azra'eil straightened, almost holding himself stiffly. He looked towards his glass, swirling the amber liquid, then locked his violet eyes with Ezekiel's own piercing green.
"Because you understand the bigger picture, as well as the minute details," he explained, then snorted in amusement. "Plus being sorted into Slytherin must count for something and not the almost sort that your descendant had. Though being Slytherin's heir is a bonus."
Ezekiel's only reaction was an agitated twitch of his pearly white wings. Raising a brow, "Fine," he sighed. "What year?" he asked, he ran his right hand through his hair.
"1963," Azra'eil said neutrally. Ezekiel tilted his head in bemusement, before his eyes narrowed as the other being continued, "January 9th."
Ezekiel asked, "Where exactly am I being placed?" He felt the ominous feeling tingle down his spine. He hoped he was wrong, though he rarely was with these kinds of portents.
"Cokeworth, England," Azra'eil replied grimacing. "Spinner's End."
Ezekiel nodded with a wry smile. "Severus Tobias Snape, then," he stated matter-of-factly.
Azra'eil smiled in sympathy. "His life touched many others, whether they be for good or ill," he paused in thought, before continuing. "He never had a chance, did he?"
"Does he know?" Ezekiel's voice coming out as a mere sad whisper. He stood up abruptly, suddenly needing to distance himself and strode towards a large window; it showed a few children playing tag with the sprites. He stood watching but not really seeing.
Azra'eil moved towards his friend and advisor with both glasses, handing the one on his left, filled half-way. He stood shoulder to should with his best friend.
"Yes, he does," he affirmed. "And said that it would've been an honour to be your ward."
"Son," the archangel countered.
The Death entity blinked. "Pardon?"
"Son," he repeated. Ezekiel rubbed his face with a tired sigh. "If I'm doing this, I'm not doing it half-assed. Not like this anyway."
Azra'eil beamed at him. "Great!" it was said a little to loudly and quickly for Ezekiel to not be suspicious.
The archangel took a deep breath and exhaled gustily, turning his head to look at the deity's profile. "Am I to be without, but the clothes on my back?" he asked suddenly.
Azra'eil, knowing his best friend well enough to know it wasn't the end of the discussion, just that it would be off the table, answered, for now. "Of course not!" he huffed. "The Goblin Nation will recognize you as the rightful heir and Lord to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell," he smirked. "The original to boot."
Ezekiel gave him a blank look at first before it turned calculating. "You knew," he stated matter-of-factly with a tight voice. There were days when he felt that he should just press the Big Threaten-y Button That Must Never, Ever, Ever, Ever Be Pressed; this is one of those days. His posture radiated a sort of danger that many likened to kicking a Runespoor and expecting it to be subservient, because that really was a good idea.
Note the sarcasm.
Azra'eil winced in anticipation, knowing that his friend would feel manipulated. Hopefully Ezekiel's ire wasn't directed at him, even the other department heads had been wary to anger his second-in-command.
The archangel had known something was going to happen, especially when Myrddin looked at him like a cat caught the canary after they had passed each other in the corridor. He sighed internally, but took it in stride outwardly. Ezekiel promised himself to think about the possibilities when he was alone.
He looked at Azra'eil with a wary look. "How long?" his tone of voice very flat, making the other squirm in guilt. Ezekiel hid his amusement from his boss's fidgeting, knowing the other would never live this down.
The Death entity winced again and gave him a wan smile, "It came up in the Department Head's meeting a few weeks back," he snorted in amusement. Then answered the unvoiced question, "Myrddin Emrys."
Ezekiel chuckled softly, shaking his head in exasperation, making Azra'eil relax his muscles. "I knew that man was crafty," he said smirking, as he remembered the prank James and Sirius had helped him concoct. It surprised him when Nicholas and Perenell joined their shenanigans.
Azra'eil felt a foreboding feeling from that, frankly, evil smirk.
"What did you do?"
"Nothiiinggg~" this was said with utmost innocence, something Azra'eil hadn't fooled one bit and it showed on his face. "Alright. James, Sirius, and I gave him Canary Cremes," grinning all the while. "I don't understand what got his knickers in a twist."
"Probably being turned into Delores in a frog suit didn't help, instead of the standard yellow canary," he said so dryly that it may as well have been a desert. He sighed with fond exasperation. "Who helped?" knowing that out of the three, only Ezekiel was genius in potions but tended to healing and cures. But with only the occasional prank and battle ones thrown into the mix.
Ezekiel chuckled in remembrance of why the two alchemists had joined their rag-tag group.
"Nick and Penny."
"The Flamels?!" Azra'eil exclaimed incredulously. "Why?"
"Apparently, Myrddin had embarrassed the two with a tasteless one," he grimaced along with Azra'eil. "Yeah… Though he did apologize profusely, they wanted revenge."
Azra'eil snorted. "Remind me to never get on two's bad side."
"Noted."
Both men contemplated after the silence had stretched, though it was far from uncomfortable. Ezekiel thought about the mission, he knew the humans were fighting each other to oblivion. It never did cease to amazed how much destruction one can cause another, even in his past life. His oldest brother, Antioch, owned the Elder Wand and with it, a bloody history was borne. Then the second oldest, Cadmus, he received the Resurrection Stone, where he went mad with grief as he summoned his dead wife. Eventually, he stopped for it caused her great pain, she did not belong with mortals anymore.
Azra'eil studied the former wizard before him and thought back to that faithful day where the Three Brothers were attacked by a pack of rabid magical wolves. It was through sheer ingenuity that they tricked the wolves into drowning themselves in nearby river. He had never seen such skill and self-preservation in the face of danger that he had to meet them himself.
Azra'eil had introduced himself and they in turn. He wanted to reward and test them individually and it came in the form of what the wizards called the Deathly Hallows. Though the misnomer of combining all three was always entertaining, it just meant when the person died, they were automatically sent to his department for an interview and evaluation. No muss, no fuss.
Ignotus, as Ezekiel was known back in his world, was the only one who had no selfish desire for power or the dead. It never ceased to amaze him, the sheer arrogance and ignorance of wizards.
Because, really? Master of Death? Them?!
He chortled inwardly. Then blinked, he needed Ezekiel to get ready and warn him about the few precautions he'll need in the world he'll be living in. Azra'eil cleared his throat.
Ezekiel snapped out of his daze and straightened in his seat. "Yes?" their eyes met.
"I must caution you of the dangers," the Death entity began. "The atmosphere is more racially charged because of the recruiting Riddle is doing at this time. With the High Lord's return, you, many will turn to you for guidance."
The archangel looked incredulous.
Azra'eil nodded in agreement. "I know. The sheep need a shepherd, for the fox is hiding amongst the flock," he replied cryptically.
"And you've hanging around Confucius a lot," Ezekiel retorted. "Your proverbs are showing."
He shrugged. "At least what I'm saying makes, not a random platitude."
Rolling his eyes. "I suppose," he sighed. "Anything else?"
"Trust your instincts, they're usually right. Being my advisor must count for something."
Ezekiel snorted. "So scaring most of the people in limbo was just for shits and giggles, then? Not turning their life around for something better? Because that would be just ridiculous."
He smirked and shrugged. "Dunno," then continued his warning. "Though you are essentially immortal, you can still get grievously hurt or ill."
"Lovely."
"Indeed. Try not to kill people that irritate you, Azkaban is not a day spa for the criminally insane."
"Noted," he responded sarcastically.
Azra'eil smirked, then his face softened. "Learn to enjoy this second chance. Saving the world does't have to be tedious. Become a Shaolin master for all I care," he held a hand up to quell the protests. "Just make the most of your allotted time."
He sighed and nodded in acquiescence. "If that is all? I must prepare," when he received a nod, Ezekiel left closing the door softly with a click.