Heaven. A realm of vast swathes of clouds and angels, occasionally playing harps. Normally nothing would ever be a problem here. Then again, this wasn't exactly a normal day.

"Accursed Satan! Must he always make mischief on the day our plans come to fruition?" Metatron scowled, gliding quickly over the marble path towards the processing center for the dead.

"This should be handled by another Archangel, lord, even Michael himself! Things really must be terrible if they send the scribe of God to run these errands."

Metatron reached the entrance and pushed through into the cacophony of whirrs and hums, with minor angels flapping quickly on their errands and desperately scrambling to get out of his way.

"00002222560789B...00002222560789C... Aha!" Metatron stopped next to the door he had been searching for and entered. Inside was a small room with a very bored angel sitting at a desk... playing Halo 6.

"Yeah, so, I was just talking to Hermelael the other day about how Jornenael has been eyeing up Meliael recently..." The angel chatted incessantly into the golden cell phone she held between her neck and shoulder while spawn-killing another Forerunner.

"Ahem." Metatron grumbled.

"Oh, what? Just a sec." The angel turned in her chair. "What do you want-" Her face paled. "M-Metatron?"

Metatron folded his arms. "Indeed."

"Uh... call you back." The angel hung up her phone, which then disappeared. "H-how can I, uh, help you, sir?"

Behind her there was a loud explosion, and the screen was painted with the red words Your Team has Lost. "Oh! Uh, heh heh..." The angel quickly turned around and turned off the golden Xbox 2160 and golden plasma screen TV, which also disappeared, showing instead where it had been a poster for the TV show Supernatural.

Metatron sighed. "What is your name, angel?"

The angel smiled nervously. "Um, Arael, sir."

"Well, Arael," Metatron began. "Are you aware that the soul of Lelouch Vi Brittania was just routed through your room an hour ago?"

"Uh, who?" Arael asked.

"Lelouch. Vi. Brittania. The boy who actually rid an entire world of tyranny for untold decades by sacrificing himself, the boy who was as close to Christ in spirit as any mortal man could get! Did you or did you not send on his soul?"

"Wait... that guy was a frakking messiah? I just thought he had a funny name."

Metatron raised an eyebrow. "Well, 'that guy' happens to be one of the highest current priorities of Heaven. He did not arrive at his prepared destination. Where is he?"

Arael blinked. "Uhm..." She snapped her fingers and a golden computer appeared. "Let's see here... Ben Smith, Heaven. John Johnson, Purgatory. Jack Smith, Heaven. Lelouch Vi Brittania..."

Arael paled.

"Angel... where did you send the boy?"

"Heh..." Arael avoided Metatron's gaze. "The world of hmm mhmh."

Metatron frowned. "What."

"The world mh phmfmf mphpff." Arael's voice faded into mumbling again.

Metatron scowled. "In the name of the lord, speak up!"

"You'll laugh." Arael said quietly.

"No, I certainly will not!"

Arael stayed silent for a moment. "Harry Potter. The world of Harry Potter."

Metatron blinked. "Oh. Oh... oh no."

"I know, right? It's childish. I just... I mean, I just loved those books, and I thought his name seemed strange enough to fit in... hey, what's wrong with you?"

Metatron was currently staring off into space. "H-Harry Potter... you sent Lelouch Vi Brittania into... do you even know what you've done?"

Ariel scowled. "Jeeze, dude, don't get so worked up about it. Can't we just yank him out of there and put him wherever he's supposed to be?"

Metatron laughed despairingly. "Pull him out? That's not even possible at this point!"

Arael frowned. "What do you mean? It's just a made up afterlife world."

Metatron blinked. "The world of Harry Potter is not a 'made up afterlife world'. It is an alternate Earth, just like the one the child was from. You did not send him to an afterlife. You have reincarnated him in an alternate Earth."

Arael's eyes widened. "I... oh crap."

"I see you understand some of the gravity of the situation." Metatron said anxiously.

"Well, wait a sec. Can't we just ask an Archangel like Michael or Raphael to retrieve him?" Arael asked.

"There are two problems with that strategy." Metatron said, raising an eyebrow. "Number one: all of the Archangels but myself are currently out dealing with some devilry of Satan's, a fact that you and I should be grateful for at this point because of reason number two-" Metatron leaned in. "Michael. You see, the child is a personal charge of Michael's, which means that Michael would be sent in to clean up whatever mess the child decides to make in the world of Potter."

Arael shrugged. "So? Shouldn't be any challenge for an Archangel."

Metatron opened his mouth to speak, but then paused for a moment, looking into the eyes of the relatively innocent angel in front of him. "I suppose you have not had any experience with the politics of Heaven, so I will do my best to explain it to you."

Metatron glanced in the general direction of Heaven's center. "Michael wants only the trust and pride of God. As such, anything that makes him look, in his eyes, the smallest bit incompetent to God, will incur his wrath. Now, retrieving the child and repairing the damage to Potter's world should not be any problem to him; but because the child was supposed to be under his protection it will look as if he made the mistake."

Arael chuckled, but the angel's grip on her armrests was tightening. "But, I mean, there's no way the Big Guy would hold something like that against him... right?"

Metatron chuckled. "God? No. The 'Big Guy' would never be so petty. Michael, however, cannot see that. Unfortunately, that means he would be very angry. As soon as he returned from his errand he would probably come right here and smite you or, if you're really unlucky, cast you down."

Arael's eyes widened further. "Y-y-you don't mean he'd..."

"Send you to Hell?" Metatron shook his head sadly. "If it suited him. Now that we have that cleared up, let's focus on getting the child back before he gets into too much trouble, yes?"

Arael nodded mutely.

"Well." Metatron stood. "Let us head out, then." He grabbed Arael's hand and began to drag her out of the room.

"N-no no! Wait! You're just going to drag me out there? Where are we even going!?" She said, her panicked eyes staring at his hand.

Metatron glanced back at her, confused. "To answer your first question, of course, assuming you do not wish to be cast into Hell. As for the second, we need to go to the World Gate, do we not?"

"T-the World Gate? Well, yeah but...it's just..." She blushed. "It would almost look as if... you know, you just dragging me away like this..."

Metatron blinked. "What do you mean?"

Arael looked down. "N-nothing. Never mind. Let's just go."

Still confused, Metatron lead Arael out of the room. Unfurling his great wings, he turned to Arael. "Hold on." He said, clenching an arm around her waist. Arael gasped as they suddenly set off at an unbelievably powerful pace. She had wings, of course, but Metatron had the six powerful wings of the Seraphim, gracing him with an unbelievable speed.

They soared through throngs of angels, many of which turned to stare.

"Is that Meta-"

"With a female angel-"

"...guess we all get lonely sometimes-"

Arael felt heat beginning to grow in her cheeks. What do they think I am, his consort or something? He's a friggin' Archangel! The most scholarly Archangel, the one least likely to be doing that sort of thing... ugh! She shook her head. Besides, I should really be worrying about BEING CHUCKED INTO HELL RIGHT NOW.

They finally reached the World Gate, a gigantic tower containing thousands of doors, each leading to a different world. A clerk angel flew up to them, frantically scanning his clipboard.

"This is a controlled area. I must ask you to please leave before-" He looked up and noticed who he was talking to. "Oh, Lord Metatron! I apologize, I did not realize it was you." His eyes narrowed at Arael. "Who's this, now? Did she fill out the proper paperwork?"

"This matter is urgent, Dorael. There is no time for formalities." Said Metatron.

Dorael sighed. "Very well, Lord Metatron. Be on your way. One of these times, you should really just come for a social call. Us at HQ were starting to worry that you'd gone and shut yourself up with all your books again, like back in 09."

Arael felt a bit curious. "2009?"

Dorael gave her a strange look. "No... 09. I suppose it would be 0009, AD, if you want the technical date. Say, how old are you, anyway?"

Metatron sighed. "Look, as much as I wish there were time to converse, we really do have an urgent matter to resolve. Could you please just direct us to the door to the Potter world?"

"Yeah, yeah." Dorael reached into his bag and pulled out a golden key, etched with the number 00000031071980, and handed it to Michael. "Should be right about..." Dorael closed his eyes and began to move his arm in circles, pointing at the tower. After a moment it stopped, pointing at a door in the distance. "There!" A golden beacon of light burst into existence.

"Our thanks." Metatron nodded to Dorael. With a great flap of his wings, they were in front of the door.

"Well, then." He glanced at Arael. "Do you need a moment to prepare, or shall we enter?"

Arael blinked. "You mean we can just go right through and we're suddenly in Harry Potterville? The World o' Witchcraft and Wizardry? No complex ritual or anything?"

Metatron gave her a quizzical look. "Should there be?"

"I guess not..." She took a moment to look over the door. It wasn't a very interesting door, just plain old wood with iron bands and a brass ring handle. "Might as well go in, I guess..."

Metatron put the key into the keyhole, twisted, then opened the door. They stared for a moment at a huge vortex of multicolored light before being sucked into it, the door slamming behind them.

"Wonder who that angel was... and why Metatron was carrying her around..." Dorael said to himself. He grinned. "Well... maybe Metatron has finally found something other than scholarly works to be interested in... not bad taste, though she did seem a bit young..."

Dorael flew on, leaving the golden key still in the lock.

Meanwhile, in the world beyond the door, the fifth year of a student named Harry Potter at Hogwarts was about to begin... but there was now another piece on the chessboard.