Prompt 56--St. Peter
Aug. 18th, 2007 11:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: Changes In The Fabric Of Reality
Pairing: None
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: Peter hated being on the gate when the weird ones came through...
Changes In The Fabric Of Reality
Peter bent his head to his oversized book, making notations next to name after name as he waited for the next scheduled arrival. The air rippled by an unseen wind and he looked up, noticed the changes, and sighed. He now sat in a train station instead of at his customary oversized desk. His halo had turned into a green visor and arm sleeves covered his pure white gown, hiding the intricate embroidery and the badges of honor that were his alone. His wings had withdrawn into his back; after all, train station managers don’t have wings, do they?
He sighed again and sat back on the uncomfortable chair, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly. In the last few months he’d been shoved into a garage with long hair and flannel, in a room fashioned to look like a jungle with fake waterfalls and stuffed animals, wearing sunglasses, and now this. Why is it the weirdos only come up when he’s on the door? He would have to ask one of the others—perhaps Gabriel or John knew something. Maybe they had inside information.
The train arrived promptly, eleven fifty-two p.m. The man who got off was tall with long white hair and a great beard tied with ribbons and beads; Peter thought he would have to remember that fashion accent to try out himself when he was alone. It was something that not everyone could carry and it took a special panache to pull off; he didn’t know if he was the type that could.
The man shepherded a few children who rode with him over to the side then spotted the ticket booth, heading his way with a twinkle that reminded him of an old friend. “Good day, sir. You must be the one sent to meet us. Can we expect others to escort us or are you the only one?”
“I’m the only one. I’ll need your names and birthdates, please.”
Each child was solemn as they stepped up to the window to repeat their names and dates of birth. They were of varied ages, from eleven to sixteen; Peter thought this was strange for a moment or two, then dismissed the thought. It wasn’t the first time that a group of children had come through, but their demeanor seemed slightly unnerving to him for some reason. They were more polite than the usual group of minors that came through the gate.
The adult was finally at the window after all the children were done. It was confirmed that it was their time, their ticket, and Peter wanted to weep inside. He always did when there were children involved. They seemed to tug at his heart, but he remembered what the Master always said—‘suffer the little children to come unto me’—although he doubted that he meant the children had to suffer. He was suddenly glad that he didn’t have to see what their injuries were prior to their arrival.
With another unearthly twinkle, the gentleman cleared his throat. “My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, but my birthdate will not be listed in your roster—Peter.”
It seemed the scales dropped from his eyes and he saw the Master, standing there in all his glittering glory. His eyes were golden and swirling with the magic of the Father and his hands spread wide, the scars livid against the wrists where they had always been—and had been cleverly hidden by the long-sleeved robe.
“Master! Why? I mean—I know that you like to take these little trips and such, but I have never known you to be gone for so long…”
Dumbledore reached out his hand and touched the side of his beloved disciple’s face. “I know. That’s why I leave without warning. Sometimes I feel such a need to shepherd another group to the Light and this group needed such guidance. He’s up to his old tricks, masquerading as a Dark Wizard now and I felt such despair and hopelessness that I couldn’t stay away.”
Peter nodded, understanding flooding through him. “Why didn’t you just bring them to the gates then? Why the elaborate masquerade? It would have been so much easier…”
“Ah, but you know me, Peter. When have I ever done easy?”
He patted his faithful disciple and friend on the arm. “There will be more arrivals from where I just left. I’ll meet them here myself. You won’t be taken off the gate again—at least for a while. Is that all right with you?”
Peter seemed to brighten under the loving touch. “Well, there is a concert—the All-Angel Rock Extravaganza will be next week. Are you sure that you’ll be all right with the door? You know, the last time that you manned the gate, there was a few that got in that…were questionable in their intent…”
The loving smile that graced the Master’s face was hard to look at directly. “You know that I can never turn anyone away. Especially not when they call to me at their last moment. It’s my own fault, nobody else’s. Father called me to task on it, but…I just can’t help loving them too.”
He ushered the children through the station and on to the long hill that would lead them to the real gate made of a single pearl. He called over his shoulder to Peter, still in the ticketmaster’s booth. “I’ll join you again in a second, Peter. Then you can go to your concert.”
St. Peter leaned on his fist and waited patiently for the Master’s return. Of all the men he’d known through his lifetime, Jeshua ben Joseph was one of the most caring, enigmatic, and difficult to decipher. He had done so much in his time—and time again, just to show that love could overcome most of the impossible and improbable odds.
He was a strange one, Jeshua was. Then again, that was the beauty of Heaven. Even the strange ones seemed to have a perfect fit somewhere.
Peter found himself looking forward to the concert and being off the gate for the next arrivals. If they were anything like this type—well, he just as well be rocking out to the All-Angel band. Humming, he scrubbed at the book before him and turned the page.
Pairing: None
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: Peter hated being on the gate when the weird ones came through...
Changes In The Fabric Of Reality
Peter bent his head to his oversized book, making notations next to name after name as he waited for the next scheduled arrival. The air rippled by an unseen wind and he looked up, noticed the changes, and sighed. He now sat in a train station instead of at his customary oversized desk. His halo had turned into a green visor and arm sleeves covered his pure white gown, hiding the intricate embroidery and the badges of honor that were his alone. His wings had withdrawn into his back; after all, train station managers don’t have wings, do they?
He sighed again and sat back on the uncomfortable chair, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly. In the last few months he’d been shoved into a garage with long hair and flannel, in a room fashioned to look like a jungle with fake waterfalls and stuffed animals, wearing sunglasses, and now this. Why is it the weirdos only come up when he’s on the door? He would have to ask one of the others—perhaps Gabriel or John knew something. Maybe they had inside information.
The train arrived promptly, eleven fifty-two p.m. The man who got off was tall with long white hair and a great beard tied with ribbons and beads; Peter thought he would have to remember that fashion accent to try out himself when he was alone. It was something that not everyone could carry and it took a special panache to pull off; he didn’t know if he was the type that could.
The man shepherded a few children who rode with him over to the side then spotted the ticket booth, heading his way with a twinkle that reminded him of an old friend. “Good day, sir. You must be the one sent to meet us. Can we expect others to escort us or are you the only one?”
“I’m the only one. I’ll need your names and birthdates, please.”
Each child was solemn as they stepped up to the window to repeat their names and dates of birth. They were of varied ages, from eleven to sixteen; Peter thought this was strange for a moment or two, then dismissed the thought. It wasn’t the first time that a group of children had come through, but their demeanor seemed slightly unnerving to him for some reason. They were more polite than the usual group of minors that came through the gate.
The adult was finally at the window after all the children were done. It was confirmed that it was their time, their ticket, and Peter wanted to weep inside. He always did when there were children involved. They seemed to tug at his heart, but he remembered what the Master always said—‘suffer the little children to come unto me’—although he doubted that he meant the children had to suffer. He was suddenly glad that he didn’t have to see what their injuries were prior to their arrival.
With another unearthly twinkle, the gentleman cleared his throat. “My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, but my birthdate will not be listed in your roster—Peter.”
It seemed the scales dropped from his eyes and he saw the Master, standing there in all his glittering glory. His eyes were golden and swirling with the magic of the Father and his hands spread wide, the scars livid against the wrists where they had always been—and had been cleverly hidden by the long-sleeved robe.
“Master! Why? I mean—I know that you like to take these little trips and such, but I have never known you to be gone for so long…”
Dumbledore reached out his hand and touched the side of his beloved disciple’s face. “I know. That’s why I leave without warning. Sometimes I feel such a need to shepherd another group to the Light and this group needed such guidance. He’s up to his old tricks, masquerading as a Dark Wizard now and I felt such despair and hopelessness that I couldn’t stay away.”
Peter nodded, understanding flooding through him. “Why didn’t you just bring them to the gates then? Why the elaborate masquerade? It would have been so much easier…”
“Ah, but you know me, Peter. When have I ever done easy?”
He patted his faithful disciple and friend on the arm. “There will be more arrivals from where I just left. I’ll meet them here myself. You won’t be taken off the gate again—at least for a while. Is that all right with you?”
Peter seemed to brighten under the loving touch. “Well, there is a concert—the All-Angel Rock Extravaganza will be next week. Are you sure that you’ll be all right with the door? You know, the last time that you manned the gate, there was a few that got in that…were questionable in their intent…”
The loving smile that graced the Master’s face was hard to look at directly. “You know that I can never turn anyone away. Especially not when they call to me at their last moment. It’s my own fault, nobody else’s. Father called me to task on it, but…I just can’t help loving them too.”
He ushered the children through the station and on to the long hill that would lead them to the real gate made of a single pearl. He called over his shoulder to Peter, still in the ticketmaster’s booth. “I’ll join you again in a second, Peter. Then you can go to your concert.”
St. Peter leaned on his fist and waited patiently for the Master’s return. Of all the men he’d known through his lifetime, Jeshua ben Joseph was one of the most caring, enigmatic, and difficult to decipher. He had done so much in his time—and time again, just to show that love could overcome most of the impossible and improbable odds.
He was a strange one, Jeshua was. Then again, that was the beauty of Heaven. Even the strange ones seemed to have a perfect fit somewhere.
Peter found himself looking forward to the concert and being off the gate for the next arrivals. If they were anything like this type—well, he just as well be rocking out to the All-Angel band. Humming, he scrubbed at the book before him and turned the page.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-19 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-19 05:37 am (UTC)