Harry Potter & The Voice Of God

Chapter Four - Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It...

Notes: Sorry for this one taking so long, but I´m really needing to see Dogma again, before I can work on it. My Metatron is getting a little rusty (and no, nothing as kinky as that!), so this is just going to be a basic chapter. (Plus, wrote 4 chs. of other stuff last night, so felt I had to do something for all the people who like this)

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"You..."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all leaned forward, holding their breath, wondering just what the mission would be.

After all, having been transported instantly from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland, to The Leaky Cauldron, in London, by a strange man with wings - who looked very like Snape - when he clapped his hands...

They could hardly doubt that something very weird was going on and accepting his explanation that he was an angel seemed to be the easiest option, since they couldn´t exactly go running to Dumbledore.

Not unless they had taken up cross-country running very quickly.

The Metatron seemed aware of the importance of dramatic statements, looking from one face to the other, before he finally intoned their mission, in a voice that only the coolest people in the world could possibly manage.

"Have to defeat some evil bloke called Voldemort."

"AGAIN?"

None of them could be sure who actually made the exclamation the loudest, only that the Metatron just raised his eyebrows and took another warm swill of butterbeer, a smirk on his lips.

"Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant," Ron moaned, sinking back in the seat, the excited flush in his cheeks fading to chalk white. "As if learning to shave wasn´t enough..."

"Although, this is actually a good thing," Hermione said.

Ron and Harry stared her as if she had grown another head, which was actually making the crazy sounds instead of nice, normal, level-headed Hermione.

"Hermione," Ron pointed a finger at her, his face going grey. "I always thought it might be true, but now I know it. You are barking mad!"

Swatting his hand away with a huff of impatience, Hermione shook her head. "You weren´t listening were you? Didn´t you hear him say that our mission is to defeat You-Know-Who?"

"Actually, Hermione, we did hear him say that, which is why Ron´s face is going all colours of the rainbow now," Harry said and Ron spluttered in agreement and went an appropriate shade of turquoise.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "Honestly, don´t you two get it?"

"That we´re going to get ourselves killed by going after You-Know-Who?"

Brown eyes flashed at them. "It´s a mission for God," she exclaimed eagerly. "Look, every other time we´ve had to face You-Know-Who, it's because we were doing what we thought was right."

"Or because we were breaking the rules," Harry added.

"Or because we didn´t like Snape," Ron conceded.

"Or because Dumbledore kept dropping subtle hints, leaving pointers and giving you that bloody invisibility cloak," the Metatron put in cheerfully. "So you had no excuse not to be nosy little prats."

Hermione huffed with indignation. "Yes, but that´s not the point! This time, we´re actually being told to go after him!"

"And that makes it so much better than doing it ourselves?" Ron demanded.

"Ron, you really don´t know what this means, do you?"

Ron shrugged. "I know that my arse´ll be on the line, if that´s what you mean. I mean, come on, Hermione. We´re only fifteen and we´re being sent on a mission for God," he replied, looking none-too-pleased about the thought of it. "We´ll probably kick the bucket if we go after You-Know-Who."

Looking to the Metatron for denial, Harry was rather...concerned by the impassive look on the angel´s face. "Do...do people die a lot on missions for God?" he asked.

"From time to time," the Metatron replied lazily. "Nothing to worry about really."

Harry stood up immediately. "Well, Mr. Metatron," he said, hoping he wasn´t sounding too rude. "It's been very nice meeting you, but if you don´t mind, I think I´m going to have to say no to this mission thing. I´ve almost died four years in a row and I´m really not in the mood for it to happen again this year."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"Look, Hermione, I just want a quiet term."

"But-but this is different!" she squeaked, her eyes round. "This is an actual mission from GOD! You have celestial intervention! You can´t turn down a decreed Mission from God!"

"Smart, this one," the Metatron noted. "Best keep an eye on her, Mr. Weasley," he directed the comment at Ron, who went scarlet. "Don´t want someone snatching her before you get a chance to."

Hermione blinked at the Metatron, then at Ron. "What on earth is he talking about?"

Ron went scarlet and made a sound vaguely like, "Abemeguh..."

There was a brief silence, in which Hermione blinked, then went pink. "SO!" she exclaimed in a slightly shriller voice than usual. "Mr. Metatron, tell him! He has to do this Mission, doesn´t he?"

"No I don´t!" Harry protested and the Metatron nodded.

"Afraid he´s right, Granger," he replied dryly. "Although, it would be a hell of a lot easier if people just did what they were told, instead of having to be convinced at a later date."

Harry set his jaw. "I´m not going to change my mind," he said.

"Thought you might say that," the Metatron drawled. "But in case you do, there are a few things you can keep an eye open for, as a sign that your mission is well and truly underway anyway."

Harry made a feeble sound in his throat. "Don´t I get a choice?"

"Sorry, Potter, order from the top of the ladder. Nothing to do about it."

Sitting back down heavily, Harry scowled. "I hate my life."

"Don´t be daft," the Metatron breezed. "If you´d lived a happy life, you´d be bored out of your mind and end up in a loony bin before you hit twenty. At least this way, we keep you on your toes..."

"So what are the signs then?"

"Well," Leaning forward, the Metatron folded his hands on the table and studied the boy. "There are the prophets. You´ll know them when you see them and, whatever happens, don´t lose them. They´re essential players."

"Real prophets?" Hermione said. "With prophesies?"

"Hmm, I smell a sceptic. What now, Granger?"

Hermione gave him a measured look. "Do they make real prophesies?"

"Well, they don´t knit bedsocks for old ladies," The girl huffed an indignant sound through her nose. "Look, I convinced you I´m an angel from God. Can´t you just let the prophet thing slide?"

Looking dubious, Hermione sat back. "So...prophets. How do we recognise them?"

"There´ll be three of them," the Metatron answered ponderously, watching his fingertip trace small circles on the tabletop. "One of them will talk. At great length. Mainly about himself. Actually, I doubt you´ll be able to shut him up. The other two won´t say much, but when they do...well, you better listen."

"Three prophets? Isn´t that a little much?"

"They all have their moments," the Metatron replied with a smirk.

"But how will we know that we´re looking for the right people?"

"Oh, you won´t be looking for them, Potter," the angel said. "They´ll find you and you´ll know who they are when they get to you. One of them will tell you that they´re the prophets."

"And they´ll know what we have to do?"

The Metatron´s smirk was purely wicked, eyes glinting. "They won´t have a clue."

Harry, Hermione and Ron stared across the table at him in confused bewilderment, each of them clearly forming question after question in their mind.

"So we have three prophets," Harry started to work through the facts he had, hoping he didn´t sound as stupid as he felt he did. "Who don´t know what they are, who are meant to help us on our mission to defeat Voldemort?"

"And to save the world from total destruction. You forgot that bit." Three mouths fell open. The Metatron groaned. "Bloody hell...I knew I forgot to mention something!" He fished into his pocket and withdrew a notepad and pen. "Right. Convince the trio I´m an angel. Check. Do some trick to really convince `em. Check. Tell `em they have a mission. Check. Detail mission. Check. Inform `em of prophets. Check. Remember to inform them that the fate of the whole world´s very existence rests on their choice of accepting or refusing the mission, detailing the fact that if Voldemort has his own way and manages to pull off the little plan that he´s looking into now and opens the Seventh Seal before the best-before date, the world will turn inside out and life as we know it will cease to exist..." He looked up from the pad. "Did you catch that or do I have to repeat it?"

Three pairs of eyes blinked at him.

"We...we have to stop...You-Know-Who...from..."

"Opening the Seventh Seal before its due date and negating all existence!" the Metatron cut in. "I hate it when people need things spelled out for them."

"Well...thank you..." Harry said slowly, easing out of the seat and standing up. "I think we´ll be going...now..."

Hermione and Ron seemed to share this sentiment.

The Metatron shrugged with a lazy smile. "When things start, Potter, like you said once, the trouble will find you," he said. "It's just up to you if you´re willing to do what you do best."

"And what is that?" Harry demanded, a little more coldly than he intended.

"Get by with a little help from your friends."

A large silver bell appeared in the Metatron´s hand, which Harry vaguely recognised from the bar counter of The Leaky Cauldron, and he winked at Harry and gave it a enthusiastic shake.

***

Jerking upright, Harry gasped as he came awake.

"Bloody hell!" Ron yelped, jerking upright beside him.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry looked around, shaken. They were...in the common room and he was sitting on the chair in front of the fire, Ron beside him and Hermione on the chair opposite, looking white in the face.

"I-I just had a rather odd dream..." Hermione said carefully.

"An angel..." Ron looked a little disturbed. "An angel with wings..."

"So it wasn´t just me..." Harry felt oddly relieved.

"My wand...a platypus..."

"You poked me..."

Harry shuddered. "A mission from God..." he mumbled, shifting on his seat, then wincing when something dug into his back. Reaching behind him, his hand closed over something cold and metallic.

"Why did we get pulled into your dreams, then?" Ron demanded.

Harry didn´t say anything for a long time, as he pulled out the item on his chair, his mouth going very dry and his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he realised what it actually meant.

"I-I don´t think it was a dream," he finally said, his voice shaking, as he held out the object he had been leaning rather uncomfortably against.

It was the silver bell from The Leaky Cauldron.