The Lies We Tell Ourselves (A Harry Potter Crossover)

In Which Dumbledore Isn't Gandalf

Because of previous chapter's shortness, here is chapter two!

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Chillaxing on a table in a bowl of food is not very high on my list of things that I like to do in my spare time, even more so when there's spectators about. Especially if those spectators are decked out in medieval sorcery garb. The Cultural Revolution obviously hadn't hit them just yet.

"My food!" A boy with red hair sobbed in a distinctly English accent, looking at the plate that Iggy had landed his ass in. Iggy stood up off of the table, feeling for the edge and trying to wipe the spinach off of his pants.

"Sorry, dude," Iggy said, truly meaning it. "Condolences."

Nudge scraped the stuffing from her elbow, getting off lightly without anything on her clothes. I knew she'd have a fit if her new Forever21 shirt had been ruined by an inconvenient trip to Ye Olde England and I'd never hear the end of it.

Fang stood, taking a cursory glance about the room, and focusing his attention on Gandalf sitting up in his throne-like chair with his legs crossed in a very un-Gandalf sort of way. Fang began to walk down the table, almost strutting like he was on a runway. I half expected him to spontaneously break out into a dance number. (You don't know how long I've wished for that day to come.)

I stood up and followed him, opting to walk on the ground because I wouldn't appreciate it if a bunch of silly American walked all over my table. Nudge tugged on Iggy's hand, directing him towards where Fang and I were. Fang jumped off of the table once he reached the end, the entire room flinching as his boots impacted with the floor. The man in the grey robes (obv. hasn't been promoted to Gandalf the White yet) stood and supported himself with the podium in front of the table of adults. He wasn't all that frail, but one of his hands was black and crumbling. Yikes.

"Maximum Ride," Gandalf said, his voice low and grumbling like a grandfather that constantly talks about World War II no matter how many times you tell him to stop. I tried not to recoil in shock. He knew our names or, at least, mine. That really shouldn't surprise me anymore. A lot of the baddies tend to know us. "I am so glad that you decided to join us for dinner."

"Uh, excuse me?" I scoffed. "We were pulled through the pipes to get here and let me tell you, you guys really need to flush some Drain-O around there because it was a bit of a tight squeeze."

"What my friend was oh-so-politely trying to say is, why are we here?" Iggy flicked me upside the head and I scowled, rubbing my head.

"That is a story for another time," Gandalf said placidly. "For now sit, eat, I will talk to you after the feast."

"I think now would be better," I said, pressing the subject. I really didn't want to sit down with a bunch of pansies in hats and make merry. I'm not the merrymaking type.

Gandalf looked over the adults and made a decision, stepping down from the podium. "Very well, come with me to my office. As for you, students," he turned to the aforementioned pansies. "Continue to eat. Professor McGonagall will dismiss you at the end of dinner."

My eyes connected with Fang's and we nodded. I followed Gandalf out a side door. Either this was a very wise decision and he's the king of Candy Mountain, or we just made a deal with a mass murderer and were going to be in some deep shit. I don't know why I expected the worst, but the universe has never given us the best of luck, so I just hoped that his old man act wasn't just an act and marched into what I thought might be my untimely doom.

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It wasn't my untimely doom I was marching too but a less threatening and altogether more laughable fate than I could have even imagined. The boss man led us to a pair of gargoyles and whispered something with a flourish of his good hand, the gargoyles politely stepping out of the way to let us pass. So far, not the strangest thing I've seen, but it definitely gets within my top ten.