“Name?” The strangely chipper Ministry paper-pusher asked on one Bobby Singer, the one dimension traveller unlucky enough to be selected first.
“Age in home dimension?” was followed by a request to hold a rock in one hand, and a twig with live leaves in the other.
“What’s that stuff supposed to do?” Dean asked, trying not to laugh at Bobby when he would have to do the exact same thing in a matter of minutes.
“Determining species.” The woman chirped with an excited grin and hand-clap. “Some magical races have movement restrictions or Ministry run support services.”
Bobby tried not to be overly disturbed by the strange woman. The building they had just walked through was full to bursting with strange, and there sure had been better things to be disturbed by. Like the twig leaping out of Bobby’s hand to fill out a section of the parchment on its own, draining the colour to write with from the rock still in the man’s other hand. He was left holding what looked like a lump of roughened, clear glass.
That went unnoticed, however, as all attention was diverted to the argument that had sprung up between Harry, an Unspeakable and his own assigned Ministry representative.
“What do you mean, they’re my responsibility?” The young wizard shouted, his patience with bureaucracy having run out. “I didn’t summon them! They actually nearly squashed my muggle cousin with their car!”
“The fact that the travellers arrived in time to rescue yourself from mortal peril is deemed a matter of No Coincidence by both the Ministry and international Wizarding law as laid down by the ICW in 1557. In the case of ‘No Coincidence’ the Dimensionally Displaced are assumed to have been placed where and when they were by divine action. This divine action resulted in the Displaced being the immediate vicinity of yourself; therefore the individuals’ further integration rests with you.” The Ministry man paraphrased from the large law book in his hands.
“I’m still fourteen! Doesn’t the Ministry have to do something in the case of minors?”
“If they had been arrived in the Ministry, then it would be a Ministry problem. As that’s not the case, they’re your responsibility from completion of registration. Obviously, the Lady Magic placed these… people before you for a reason. Good day Mr Potter.” The man snapped his book shut and turned briskly away.
“Aaaarrrrgh!” The teenaged wizard screamed his frustration. A wave of angry magic radiated from the youth, and all enchantments in the near area immediately failed.
The ministry lackey’s bald spot and stained shirt became visible; the illusion over a glass panel in the side wall dropped, exposing a gathering of Unspeakables peering in the room; and both Crowley and Sam’s chairs vanished, dumping their previous occupants onto the floor.
“Bollocks!” The demon’s voice floated from under the table. Gabriel cracked up laughing. Dean snickered at his brother’s plight.
The young man was soon reminded of his own problems when he was called upon to swap positions with Bobby. In the ensuing game of musical chairs two new seats were summoned to replace those that were vanished and an extra was drawn up next to the Registry official for Harry, who slumped into it in a resigned fashion.
The questioning of Dean Winchester went as expected until they reached the ‘Species’ section, where Dean actually heard the witch read out, “Species: Human. Sub-species: Squib.”
“What?” The man reared back, insulted that the woman was calling his something that sounded like ‘squid’.
“Squib – a human with magic present in their blood, but not at a high enough level to affect their surroundings.” Was the overly-cheerful explanation. “You are able to see creatures like dementors and thestrals, gain entry into areas warded against muggles, non-magical people, and possibly enjoy a faster healing rate, compared to a muggle that is.”
“Oh.” Mollified, and in general a little overwhelmed, Dean exchanged positions with Sam.
Sam who was revealed to be a very low powered wizard through faint demonic ancestry. The tall hunter cringed when that anomaly was brought up. Seems all the demon blood fed to him over the years had had an effect on his DNA.
“Name?” Was asked of the next contender, a rather smart-mouthed demon.
“Crowley.” He drawled.
“Hey isn’t your first name,” Gabriel tried to interrupt.
“No.” Was snarled with a red-eyed glare. “Just, Crowley.”
“Alright.” The woman allowed, “And your age?”
“Four hundred and seventeen standard earth years.” The man grudgingly replied. The Registry official didn’t even blink, just continued smiling inanely and handed over the twig-and-rock combo again.
“Genus: Demonae. Species: Unspecified. Well aren’t you just a man of mystery.” The witch actually leered. “I was kind of betting on incubus, with those sleek horns.”
Crowley grimaced and manfully ran away, forcefully ejecting Gabriel from his chair furthest away.
“Name?” Was again requested, after the woman got over her despondency at Crowley’s brisk retreat.
“No it’s not.” Sam and Dean argued in sync.
“Fine. It’s Gabriel.” The archangel admitted. The demon in the room snorted, “I always knew you were an angel, I just didn’t realise you were that angel.”
“How did you know?” the blonde demanded.
“Apparently, angels can’t fully control their grace during orgasm.” Crowley smirked superiorly. A few wide eyed glances were exchanged at that little bombshell.
“Wait, doesn’t Angelic Grace hurt demons?” Sam enquired, ever curious.
“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, love.” Came the leering reply. Harry blushed madly at the mental imagery of the smartly dressed demon debauching the golden angel.
“Age in home dimension?” Was squeaked, bringing the conversation back to order.
“The age of the created universe minus four days.” Everyone stared, yet again.
“How about ‘Unknown’, with ‘Physical appearance early 30’s’?” The official suggested. Gabriel shrugged and nodded agreeably.
“Annnd, Genus: Fae. Species: Angelus.” She read, “Can’t say anyone’s ever come across one of your kind before. How exciting, I’m taking record of a whole new species!”
Castiel came forward for his turn without prompting, and answered the age question with a succinct “I am not entirely sure. I am a few millennia younger than Gabriel, though.”, thus having the least problematic registration after Bobby.
A round of identification photos were taken, including one of Crowley’s hellhound, before the group was herded out of the Department of Mysteries and finally sent on their way.
I was having trouble spelling 'bureaucracy' while writing this, so shortened it to how thought 'bureaucrat' might be spelled to try to get a suggested spelling. My spellcheck suggested 'Bearcat'. I'm not sure why I find that quite so funny.
Thanks for reading,