Through the Veil

A/N: You may recognise Death's voice from the Terry Pratchett's Discworld. Also, many thanks to Phantom of Delight for beta reading.

~*~*~*~*~

Over the years and decades, life had led Albus on many a fine jape, frequently startling him beyond his comprehension. However, life had never quite managed to so utterly bamboozle him as his death had.

Blinking about himself, Albus finally gave up his inspection of the surroundings; accepted the truly strange setting as reality; and turned his attention to the apparently young lady patiently awaiting his acknowledgement.

"Is this is the great beyond then?" He made a vague gesture around and about, and noted that, while everything else in his death might be going in any direction save that which he had expected, at least his hand didn't hurt anymore. In fact, he didn't think it had looked quite so good in decades. He wondered vaguely what he looked like now, but doubted very much that his current surroundings bore any reflective surfaces.

Except, naturally, for his hostess's eyes.

THIS IS A GREAT BEYOND. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE GREAT BEYOND. Her voice fell into his mind like the echoing of leaden slabs toppling over onto an endless granite tableau. It didn't seem to need the use of his ears to reach his brain.

"Ah," Albus hummed, and tried to look at things from a more philosophical view point. Maybe he had been too caught up in the battle with Riddle and lost touch with current theology. "So there are many great beyonds then?"

A GREAT MANY. ONE MIGHT ALMOST SAY THAT THERE WAS AN INFINITY OF THEM. PEOPLE ARE SO PICKY YOU SEE. AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE HOUSE ELVES.

Albus blinked. "The House Elves are picky?"

WOULDN'T YOU BE AFTER A LIFE LIKE THEY'VE HAD?

He had to concur that she might have a point. He wondered what Miss Granger would make of her, or rather, what Death would make of Miss Granger. After all, the seniority was clear when one was compared to Death.

Just now Death was gazing about the landscape as much as one could when one had mirrors for eyes. It was unnerving, but Albus had seen worse. Sybill in her trances for instance. At least this being was seeing what she was intended to see. For his own part, Albus had never been entirely certain that he believed humans were designed for foretelling.

In a jangle of hoops and glass shard earrings, Death caught his attention. Albus thought that she might have been shaking her head in mystification, but didn't like to second-guess the one who would exist beyond the end of existence.

I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT THIS IS ONE OF THE STRANGEST 'EVER AFTERS' I'VE SEEN.

"It's not exactly what I was expecting either," Albus replied wryly. "Most accounts agree on a few basic things. More old friends for starters. Maybe some feasting. Sometimes there's meant to be music."

YES. THEY CROP UP A LOT, Death agreed.

Albus cast one last, hopeful look around, but there was a decided lack of friends and feasting. Not even so much as an old penny whistle. "I don't suppose that I've gone to Hell have I?"

OF COURSE NOT! Death sounded most insulted and pulled an old codex out from among the folds of a dress far too flimsy to have ever hidden such a tome. The pages fluttered open without intervention. IT SAYS HERE THAT YOU ARE TO HAVE YOUR HEART'S DESIRE. AND THUS, YOU HAVE.

"My heart's desire is socks?" And with those few words, things started to click into place leaving Albus with a terrible sinking feeling.

QUITE SO. AND THUS ARE YOU SURROUNDED BY THEM. EVERY KIND IMAGINABLE. PAIR AFTER PAIR MARCHING OFF FROM HERE INTO ETERNITY. WELL, ONE OF THE ETERNITIES, ANYWAY. She put the great book away into a fold in space-time and glanced around one last time with the air of great professional interest. I HAVE TO ADMIT, IT'LL TAKE THE NEXT ONE A LOT TO TOP THIS. OH WELL, MUST GO. SOULS TO GUIDE.

"Wait! Wait a moment." He almost reached out to catch her arm, but decided just in time that it might be a bad idea. The air between his hand and hers seemed to sparkle with cold, and an infinity of socks or not, at least all of his fingers were working again. "I think there's been something of a mix-up."

I DOUBT IT.

"But-"

YOU SPOKE TO DESIRE HERSELF. SHE SHOWED YOU LIBRARIES OF KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT END; AFTERNOON COFFEE AMONG THE SHELVES WITH OLD COMRADES; A GIANT LEMON SHERBERT IN A SEA OF BERTIE BOTT'S ONLY-THE-NICE-ONES FLAVOURED BEANS. AND YOU SAID THAT YOU ONLY WANTED SOCKS. YOU SAID THAT WAS WHAT YOU TRULY SAW WHEN YOU LOOKED INTO THE MIRRORS OF HER EYES.

Albus thought that Death might have sounded somewhat disapproving about that.

DO YOU KNOW HOW UPSET SHE WAS AFTERWARDS? SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS LOSING HER TOUCH. ONLY GOOD TO BE SHATTERED.

Yes, definitely some mild admonishment.

"But I had to. Harry was there. What was I meant to tell him?"

THE TRUTH. And with that, Death was gone.

Albus sat down on a pile of socks and sighed. He picked up a pair. They were mismatched. For a long while he thought that he might be in Hell after all, and that his punishment was to think that he'd brought all this monotony upon himself, but then a second thought occurred to him. After all, if there really were all types of different socks here, some of them might even be magical. They might even show him what was going on in the world of the living. Some might let him talk to friends long dead. There might even be liquorish-flavoured, edible socks.

Smiling brilliantly, Albus set off on his quest, across the shifting hills of socks.

HUMANS. HONESTLY. I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND THEM.

~*~*~ The End ~*~*~

A/N:

In the words of Arthur Weasley: Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain.

Especially if it knows your deepest desire.