Here is our first installment from your humble editor. House points for anyone who can guess the prompts…
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The Swiss guard barely batted an eyelid as an old man with a long white beard and archaic flowing robes walked towards him. Where he worked you learned to expect that kind of thing.
“Good evening” said the man, in flawless Latin, “I am Cardinal Calabrone, and this is my assistant” he gestured to the short, stout and extremely ugly nun standing next to him. She was wearing a back wimple and a annoyed expression.
The guard adjusted his halbeard and his stiffly starched collar and stood to attention. “You are hear for the reception?” he asked, in English.
“Yeah” squeaked the nun in a naselly voice
“But, ah, Cardinal, I’m afraid I’ll need to see your tickets, we have hightened security tonight because of - “
Before he could finish the Cardinal did something with a stick in his hand, and suddenly the Swiss constable found himself accepting a sweet sticky thing - a “sherbet lemon” - and waving them through. The nun sniggered.
Inside the palazzo a black tie party was in full swing, uniformed waiters moving around with glasses of champagne and canapes, the great and the good milling under the grand Rococco fresco ceiling as they waited for the guest of honour.
As soon as the odd couple were past the doors, the old man drew his companion aside beside a convenient marble Madonna and pulled on a pair of black half-moon sunglasses.
“We’re on, Operation Elephant is a go” he whispered “Sister Petunia, do you remember the plan?”
“For the last time, my name is Peter, Peter Pettigrew” hissed the nun, “why do you keep calling me-“
“Peter I explained this, we are here in disguise”, said Professor Albus Dumbledore (for it was he) impatiently “and your code name is the, ah, honourable Sister Petunia.”
Pettigrew pouted, “Why do I have to be a nun while you get to be a cardinal?”
“Stop complaining - do you want to be re-sorted into Hufflepuff…?” said Dumbledore, sipping champagne.
At that moment the Pope stepped around the corner,
“Ah, Dumble- I mean, ahem, Cardinal Calabrone! So good to see you, I trust the job of “chief whichfinder” is suiting you well? Got to get those dastardly wizards he he” he winked, and clapped Dumbledore on the back.
“Oh stop it Mario, can’t you see I’m busy,” replied the “cardinal” crossly, waving him away, “I didn’t fake my own death and embrace a life of international espionage for nothing you know. Aha, look, he’s almost here…”
He pointed a long finger at a balcony, where a lot of thickset men in dark suits were gathering importantly.
“Mmmf - Who?” muttered Pettigrew, mouth full of canapes,
“The target! The cheese toastie transfigured into huminoid form created by Lord Voldemort to undermine the seriousness of the Muggle world leadership, oh do keep up Peter - now! Positions!”.
The reception hall grew silent as the Very Important Person stepped up to the balcony to speak. Dumbledore clicked his deluminator. The room was plunged into sudden darkness as the lights from the Rococco canelabras winked out. He paused, then flicked it again. The lights sprang back.
“EEEEEEK!! Itsa rat, a RAT! Shoot it. SHOOT IT IDIOT!. No, nooo its going up my trouser leg, Nooo AHHHH!” shrieked the US president, and he toppled straight off the balcony and onto a ceremonial ice sculpture of the Empire state building.
“Sacre bleu!” cried a French bishop, “Le horreur, Donald Trump is dead!”
Behind his half moon sunglasses Dumbledore smiled; his mission here was complete.
Only Boris Johnson to go …