Oh no, not again.
Meme picked himself up, brushed the dust off his arse, and scowled at the fluttering veil. No use trying to get back through it; he'd found that out the hard way on several previous occasions.
Well, there's another incarnation shot to hell.
Not much of a life, really: a perfectly ghastly family, twelve years in Azkaban, over two years on the run or in hiding. And now, just as things were getting interesting - one slip of a wand, and he was back here again.
He swore, shrugged, and trudged off down the gloomy, familiar corridor.
So much for Sirius Black.
Meme was a fatalist; he had to be, given his peculiar destiny. Someone - he couldn't remember who - had told him it was a curse: repeating the same path, in through the veil and out again, in and out, in and out, until he'd lived as every single character in the Potterverse. Another half-remembered voice had hinted that some day, eventually, he'd come back as the Author and get a chance to change the plot... maybe.
Yeah, right.
Not yet. He still hadn't been Harry, for one thing. He hadn't been Cho Chang yet, or Argus Filch, or Petunia Dursley, or... Damn that Author, anyway - she kept adding more characters, faster than he could reincarnate! Now he'd have to be the Half-Blood Prince as well. Eventually.
Meme waved a weary hello at the two personnel consultants, who looked up from their clipboards and nodded back at him. One held out a box. Sighing, Meme slipped out of Sirius and folded the body neatly, then watched it being filed away. Rather a nice body, that one: tall, dark, and oddly attractive to werewolves. It had certainly brought back some fond memories of his Lupin interlude.
And the dog. That was cool. I'll miss being the dog.
The other personnel consultant held out a time-sheet for Meme to sign, followed by a standard personal injury and liability disclaimer for his next incarnation.
So who'll it be? And when? Where?
A door opened. Meme shivered, hesitating on the threshold for a moment, shapeless and uncertain - then took a deep breath and slipped through.
Indoors. Warm. Not the Merpeople again, at least. Good.
He was sitting down, and everything looked blurry - oh, tears. He was crying. And the robes - he knew these robes, the rich feel of the velvet; yes, these were the very robes he'd loved when he'd been Minerva McGonagall, since they were so blissfully soft to sleep on, and Albus never minded cat hair.
Albus? Albus! Hey, I'm Albus Dumbledore! Woo-hoo!
And there, sitting in front of him, was Harry Potter. He looked terrible.
"I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry," he heard himself say. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess… that I rather thought… you had enough responsibility to be going on with."
Harry was silent. Something about his expression gave Meme uncomfortable flashbacks to his Snape incarnation.
"And I'm a useless old wanker," he added helpfully.
Harry blinked.
"Oh, but you can be a prefect now, if you want! And you must come and see me again - we can have a nice long chat about Sirius Black. Splendid fellow, Sirius!" He stared down at his new body, fascinated. "I say - isn't this a fantastic beard?"
"Er, Professor Dumbledore? Are you all right?"
"Never felt better. All set for another great adventure!" Meme could actually feel his eyes starting to twinkle. "Sherbet lemon, Harry?"
A door slammed, but Meme didn't look up. He'd just discovered the scar above his knee.
This ficlet is dedicated to November Snowflake, who asked me to write something on the theme of "Sirius is Dumbledore!" - and to the late Douglas Adams, from whose bowl of petunias I borrowed the opening line.
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.