The room is quite extraordinary, if it can be called a room at all. Instead of walls, it has four enormous bookshelves that are about five stories high. They have a multitude of strange objects, and books of course, on all 8,534, 947 of their shelves. Long, glowing ladders are flying around of their own accord, the tips of which are shaped like hands and are constantly rearranging the objects. Up on the third story height of the shelf opposite, one is for some reason juggling more than ten cat skulls as it inches perilously close to another one.

The strangest object in it, though, is the fact that doors kept on popping into existence everywhere. Directly above, a silver-hinged wooden door comes into existence and dumps out a mess of writing utensils. There are ballpoint pens and mechanical pencils, but also slate, quills, and bits of reeds. Elsewhere, a heavy, medieval-style door vanishes, leaving behind a pile of swords and assorted armour on the stone floor.

A tall, black-robed figure walks wearily towards the pile of pens, then stops. It calls to another figure in white: “hey, we’ve got a visitor.”

The person in white barely looks up from a very thick book titled Helen of Troy. “Mmh?” she shifts a little on her seat of a pile of books, and readjusts one of several quills tucked behind her ear.

“Anyway,” the first figure continues, “welcome to Evangeline and Vesper Dawn’s writing profile. As you can see, we are being swamped by work right now-” a modern office door opens two stories above her, and she catches the falling three-ring binder deftly. “-we, as authors, have lives too. However, I will give you a little of our time. My name is Ev.” She throws the binder into the air, and a ladder swoops down to catch it.

“Go away. You’re interrupting my train of thought.” Says Vesper, now scribbling away on a six-foot-long piece of parchment.

“She’s always like that. She aspires to be a philosopher, you know. With her angst streak, I doubt it.” Ev settles herself on another pile of books, which comprises of several humour novels and leather-bound collections of famous scientific papers.

“Yes, and all you aspire for is to meet the Marauders and Lily…”

“That’s NOT what I aspire for. Besides, like you don’t ship Bellatrix/Voldemort fanfictions…” She breaks off, although perhaps only to catch an apple that fell from one of the shelves.

“Only because I feel her truly fitting for the Dark Lord.” Vesper turns another page of the manuscript Mein Kampf, not aware of a live rat that lands with a nasty splatter.

“Did you just say Dark Lord?”

“I, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, have the right to examine your alliances!”

“Fine.” Vesper thrusts her left arm forward, and Ev gasps.

“ You-”

Suddenly, two glowing doors appear with a flash. Out of one steps You-Know-Who, and out of the other, Harry Potter. They look at Vesper and Ev, respectively. Both authors cringe.

“Why are you with HER?” they shout and point at the offending person for them simultaneously.

Then, they apparently realize the presence of each other.

“What are YOU doing here?” they say in perfect harmony.

As the wizards draw wands, the authors hurriedly retreat to a distant corner. With practised accuracy, they draw two identical rectangles in thin air. The rectangles glow, too. Ev jumps into the doorway, but Vesper looks back before she follows.

“Please, take one of the portals below to be transported away from here. This isn’t going to turn out pretty.”