Harry Potter & The Voice Of God

Notes: This is the illusive scene I wrote while paying so much attention in my class for Documentary. Its been tidied up a bit, but here we have the most rational person in Hogwarts needing a bit of convincing.

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"Angel?" Hermione´s eyes were narrowed, her face screwed up, the expression Harry and Ron were very familiar when she asked them if they were up to something and they denied it. It was her suspicious face. "What do you mean you´re an `angel´?"

The Metatron gave her a look that implied he thought she was deeply stupid. It was an expression she wasn´t used to having directed at her and she carefully took a step back from him.

Obviously, he had to be very dangerous.

"It means," he replied, clearly bored with labouring his point. "That I am an angel. One of the Cherubim and Seraphim. The Metatron to be specific," He took a swig from the bottle of butterbeer that Harry had acquired for him, then spat the mouthful into a glass. Hermione´s face went from suspicious to disgusted. The Metatron didn´t seem to notice and finished. "The Voice of God."

Harry and Ron, having been through the conversation minutes earlier, were watching with amusement. It was different to be the observer and the look on Hermione's face was definitely worth staying quiet for. When he had turned up in the common room in a pillar of flame and sprouted a rather impressive set of wings, they had believed what he said.

After all, there was no way he could have apparated into the school - four years of Hermione had taught them that, with reference to some book or other - and even if he had, he wouldn´t have been able to pull off that spectacular fire stunt without at least a little damage to the room.

Plus, wings...

Kind of made them go `Oooooh!´.

Or, in Ron´s case, `Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!´, but close enough.

Hermione, on the other hand, was a little more sceptical.

"You´re the Voice of God?" The Metatron´s eyes rolled skywards - or maybe even Heavenwards - as if to say `Here we go again´. "What do you mean `voice of God´?"

"I mean `voice of God´," he said, his patience clearly spread thin. "If God were to show up here and now and speak to you directly, your head would explode, because of the power of it, so God has someone to act as the voice, cos it did get a bit messy with heads popping, left right and centre..."

"And you can actually speak to God? Because you´re a real angel?" The scepticism was dripping off her voice.

"What is this?" he groaned. "Twenty questions? Yes! I can speak to God. Yes, because I am an angel."

"But you don´t...look like an angel," She looked him up and down, where he was slouched in the largest, squashiest chair in the common room.

"Well, you don´t look like a witch, but I don´t rub it in, do I?" He gave her a withering look. "Would you prefer it if I was prancing around wearing a white frock with a harp and let my wings out? If that´s the case, where´s your hat and broom?"

"In the dormitory," she answered, her nose in the air.

The Metatron shook his head. "There always has to be one."

"Hold on a minute," She stared at him. "Did you just say `let my wings out´?"

Raising the hand holding the bottle, he pointed a finger at her. "Don´t even think about asking. These two have seen 'em," Harry and Ron both nodded enthusiastically in assent. "And even if I did, if any of your classmates show up and I´m flashing at you, it´ll take a lot of explaining..."

"Flashing?" Hermione´s disgusted expression intensified.

"Oh Gawd..." His head rolling back on his shoulders, he stared at the ceiling, then looked back at the girl. "Why do all women always assume that everyone wants to get in their knickers?"

"You were the one who brought up flashing!" she stated levelly, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, much as I´d love to whip my tackle out and give you a good show, I´m afraid I can´t," He took another mouthful of butterbeer and spat it into the cup. "One, I don´t have any and two, that would also take a lot of explaining if someone walked in and caught me with my trousers down in a common room."

"You don´t have any?"

The Metatron blinked up at her. "Angels," he replied slowly. "Are genderless. We don´t need all those wonderful dangly additions or inserts that your species does. Am I making myself absolutely clear?"

Hermione´s arms seemed to cross a little further over her chest if that was possible, making her looks as strict as McGonagall on a very bad day. Her nostrils flared and her lips pursed, making it more than obvious she didn´t like the smug, sarcastic man currently swilling and spitting butterbeer in the common room.

"Well..."

"Hmm?"

"How are you going to prove that you´re an angel? You say you have wings, but you can´t let them out and you appear and set yourself on fire," She sniffed. "I think that I might go and get Professor Dumbledore."

The Metatron sighed. "No one does anything on faith these days," he sounded sad, almost talking to himself. Looking up, he gazed at Hermione for a long moment, then said. "After everything you´ve seen here, you can´t believe in this one thing without seeing the physical evidence?" Her lips pursed tighter. "Why do I always get landed with convincing the sceptics?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like you´ve had to do it before."

"Yeah...once or twice," He smirked a little. "Infertile woman, losing her faith, ends up meeting me, dead apostles, demons, prophets, muses, two angels and God, then ends up pregnant by no one after being raised from the dead." He swilled another mouthful of butterbeer and gobbed it into the cup he was holding, smirking again. "I think she was convinced."

There was a moment of silence during which he studied his near empty bottle, then bent to place it on the fireplace.

"I tell you what," he said, standing up and brushing his hands down his jacket. "How about I treat you to a drink, to make up for wasting your time and for annoying the silly little girl," The trio stared. He really did sound like Snape.

"All...all right," Ron answered for the other two.

"No! We can´t! Its the first week! Not Hogsmeade weekend!"

The Metatron gave the girl a smirk. "Who said anything about Hogsmeade?" he asked, before clapping his hands together.

"I..." Hermione´s mouth fell open, as she realised that they were no longer in the Common Room.

Harry and Ron were quick to replicate the expression.

"Well, come on," the Metatron suggested patronisingly, steered the three of them towards one of the booths that lined the wall. They were staring around, looking a tiny bit shell-shocked.

"Good afternoon, sir," a voice very familiar to the three Gryffindors spoke. "And what can we get..." Tom trailed off when he looked at the three white-faced Hogwarts pupils. "Goodness! Harry Potter!"

Harry tried to grin weakly at the bar keeper of the London pub, but failed. Somehow, the Metatron had managed to get all three of them from Hogwarts straight to The Leaky Cauldron just by clapping his hands.

"They´re with me, Tom," the Metatron said, smirking all over his face.

Tom stared at the angel for a long moment, then nodded. "What can I get for all of you, sir?"

"Four butterbeers."

Nodding, Tom scuttled off, as the Metatron stretched out his legs, lounging back in the long bench and smirking across the table at the three Gryffindors, who were looking around a little nervously.

"Ow! Stop poking me!" Hermione yelped, swatting at Ron´s hand.

"Just checking I wasn´t dreaming, Hermione," he said unapologetically.

"You´re meant to pinch yourself," she pointed out huffily. "And since when do I appear in your dreams?" Ron went an odd shade of pink. Hermione noticed and also went an equally odd shade of pink.

"Um..."

"Well..."

Harry couldn´t help grinning. He glanced at their adult companion and wasn´t surprised to see a smile cross the angel´s face as well. "So we know two things," he said. "We know this isn´t a dream and we know that the Metatron has to be an angel or a good bloke at best."

"How do we know that?" Hermione demanded, trying to hide her blush.

The dark-haired boy shrugged. "Well, he didn´t take us straight to Voldemort, so I suppose its only logic."

"Which leads onto my reason for being here," There was a pause as Tom delivered the four butterbeers and a large glass, which he placed in front of the Metatron with a knowing look. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it..."

Harry had the unmistakable urge to start humming the Mission: Impossible theme.