Chaptur thee Seconde
The corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had remained silent and empty all summer, with only a few teachers bustling about, anxiously awaiting the new arrivals and familiar faces to arrive, and planned their lessons studiously.
High up in his large office, Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, sat at his large, hardwood desk, studying some very old and yellowing papers, covered in an ancient text printed in mysterious runes. A phoenix stood on a perch above an ashtray nearby, looking as old and frail as its master.
There was no sudden movement, no flash, no indicative noise of any form. Not immediately. Very simply, there were three empty, translucent, cowled black robes, hanging in the air in the middle of the room in from of the desk.
When no attention was paid to them, one of them gave a small cough.
The old wizard behind the desk looked up sharply, with only a little surprise showing within his shining baby-blue eyes that twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. Before he had a chance to speak, the three robes did, in unison.
Good evening. You are Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are you not? They robes did not so much speak, as simply project the memory of having spoken into the listener's brain.
"Good evening to you, I'm sure. That is to say, I am indeed he. Can I be of any assistance?" Dumbledore enquired politely, as if they had arrived by invitation. "You are not ghosts, and although you greatly resemble them, you are certainly not Dementors. May I be so bold as to ask whom I am addressing?"
We are the Auditors of Reality. We are here on behalf of the Metatron, who requests an audience with you.
"The Metatron? The so-called Voice of God? I am flattered, to say the least." Dumbledore leaned forwards now, decidedly interested. As he laid his hands on his desk to he laced his fingers together, as he always did when he was in deep thought.
We were not aware you were alert to the existence of Heaven. Although usually incapable of expressing emotions, which they despised, the barest of hints of surprise had crept into one of the Auditor's voices.
"Oh yes, I have known for years, I am afraid. Although I suspect that I am one of the few wizards who does know that at least a few of the stories within 'The Good Book' are actually fact, not fiction. I was not aware that such beings as yourselves existed. There is no scripture featuring you anywhere on Earth that I know of." Dumbledore's voice was light and cheerful as he spoke, with a small smile playing on his lips.
You will take audience with the Metatron?
Dumbledore, did not speak, but tilted his head forwards, very slightly. A sound like rustling paper filled the air, and moments later, a tottering mountain of forms materialised upon the desk, which groaned, sagged, and finally, collapsed into a heap of splintered planks and sawdust.
The Headmaster looked at the heap of rubble and paper in front of him, and sighed. However, he seemed to be amused more than anything else. He waved his wand and a single form floated into his slightly gnarled hand and studied the sheet of paper intently.
The forms were covered from header to footer in black ink, with many footnotes and little bits of small print, many disclaimers, revisions and amendments to previous versions of the forms, and a great deal of mentioning of what should happen if the recipient were to make a similar contract with the Devil1.
Even with his great intellect, Dumbledore was struggling to make sense of sheer cliff face of phrases, numbers and legal niceties that were the pride of the bureaucratic elite.
"Do you wish me to sign on every marked line?" he asked politely, staring at the volume of papers littering the floor, and noticing neat little 'X's in red ink spaced carefully here and there alongside dotted lines.
Just as the three Auditors were about to enunciate an affirmative, another voice snapped:
"Oh for Heaven's sake!" and an angel appeared in a ball of blue-white heavenly light, which faded and revealed a large pair of white feathered wings attached, so it seemed, to a tall and muscular man with golden-blonde hair wearing long robes with azure hemlines. A golden halo hovered above his head. An expression of annoyance hovered on his cherubic face, and looked oddly out of place, somehow.
The angel bowed low before the wizard, and spake unto him, in an upper-class voice laced with impatience, "Sorry about that lot, they've been working with us for a while now; but they can't seem to dispose of the red tape. I'm Gabriel, by the way," he added as an afterthought. The angel waved a hand at the three empty hovering robes. "Shoo! Shoo!" The Auditors 'shooed' and melted into thin air.
Albus Dumbledore had the distinct impression that Gabriel would much rather be elsewhere than here.
"Right, I'll just clear this mess up and then the Metatron wants a few words. One miracle, coming up!" the angel pointed at the veritable mountain of paperwork which vanished, with the customary small thunderclap of air rushing in to occupy a vacant space. The ruined desk repaired itself and settled into place, the objects that had been upon it before the avalanche were also restored to full health.
"I do not recall this being present here beforehand," Dumbledore said, a highly amused smile tugging the corners of his mouth and making his beard twitch in a way which gave Gabriel a reason to frown. The Headmaster gestured towards the copy of a Playdemon magazine on his desk. The front cover displayed several androgynous incubi wearing very little in the way of clothes. "If I might keep this for future reference?" the wizard asked.
Gabriel blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he exploded, apparently scandalised, in an overly-accusatory voice, glad that the attention of the appearance of such a document had not reflected upon him.
"This." Dumbledore waved the one form of the Auditors' that had remained in that plane of existence (because it had been in the wizard's hand and not with the others when they were wished out of the Universe). Dumbledore held out the lewd magazine to Gabriel who snatched it up and stuffed it unceremoniously into a fold in his robes. "I imagine you have other things on your mind than simply meeting me tonight."
By now Gabriel looked as though he wanted nothing more than to smite the old man very hard (before nipping off to his Temptation with Incubus #69)2.
The angel thanked his lucky stars that a bright beam of white-blue light, wreathed at the top in small fluffy clouds, appeared out of the ceiling and shone in front of the Headmaster's newly-reconstituted desk. A being that resembled a young man composed solely of golden fire was suddenly standing in the light.
"You may go, Gabriel." He said in a bored, yet well-educated voice, that echoed as though it was an entire chorus of heavenly hosts all by itself.
Gabriel bowed reverentially at the Metatron and vanished in another flash of blue-white light.
"It is is good to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you." Dumbledore said calmly, looking at the being before him as though the Metatron was about as surprising as a standard lamp.
"Yes. Well, that is rather neither here nor there nor anywhere else. We have a matter of great importance to discuss. You may be aware that the most evil wizard upon the planet was discorporated mere hours ago." The Metatron said blandly. Blandness was his strong suit. He simply had to stand next to a bottle of Wow-Wow Sauce3 to make it turn tasteless.
"I was indeed aware of Lord Voldemort's demise, yes." Dumbledore was as calm and impassive as ever. He was trying to keep himself steady, despite the fact that two more tragedies had occurred.
"Demise? He is not dead, Dumbledore. He is discorporated. His body is destroyed but his soul is still at large. However, the more pressing matter is the boy, Harry Potter. The Good Lord believes that this boy can defeat Voldemort once again."
"Once again? Would be able Voldemort to return?" Dumbledore was trying to keep his voice level, but was failing dismally.
"Yes. History shall be repeated. Just as Germany recovered from the First World War to instigate the Second World War, Lord Voldemort's followers shall presumably rally to reincarnate him as soon as they are able. They boy shall be protected from the forces of evil by one of our agents, who is our long-term representative on Earth. He shall not interfere with Harry Potter's life directly, but merely watch over him from the sidelines to ensure that he grows up to be righteous and courageous."
Dumbledore received this information quietly and rose majestically to his feet. "Very well, then." he glanced at his pocket watch with twelve hands and lots of little planets circulating around the edge of the face. "I shall now proceed to Surrey where I am to meet a colleague, who has been assessing whether Harry's only surviving family is fit to live with."
(_)
1 ZDZ: If you believe that Hell's contracts are bad, wait until you see Heaven's. Although neither of them are quite as ruthlessly dull as the the bureaucratic beauties cooked up by the Auditors.
2 ZDZ: Very reasonable rates, does exciting things with leather straps and feather dusters, so long as you provide the swimming goggles and don't jiggle about too much. Ahem. ...So I've been told, of course.
3 ZDZ: The strongest and most potent spicy sauce in the Discworld. In mild accidents it has blown the scalps off careless diner's heads.