#now the ‘normal is actually the chosen one because he’s actually larks son’ thing I don’t rly like

[silverlistenstothings]

unpopular opinion abt the ‘Lark vs Sparrow is Normal’s biological parent’ ‘discourse’ is that i don’t care. i don’t think it matters to the story at all. Sparrow raised both Normal and Hero as their father and Lark was in their lives as their uncle and which one actually impregnated Rebecca in either case doesn’t matter to me at all. do you see what i mean.

[urgunnamissmebymytaco]

The thing is I can only think of 3 ways that Normal is Larks son with his mom and all of them suck. 1. she knows the prophecy and agreed to have sex with Lark to have another possible chosen one, a back up plan, which is a shitty reason to have a kid. 2. Her and Lark developed feelings for each other and had an affair, which is shitty but also I think is the least likely because Lark loves Sparrow probably more than he loves anybody else or 3. And my least favorite, the twins tricked Sparrows wife (I CANNOT REMEMBER HER NAME AND ITS KILLING ME) into sleeping with Lark at least once before they realised that it's possibly the worst thing they have ever done in their lives. Like either they pretended lark was sparrow, or they tricked her into thinking lark had feelings for her and leading into an affair that lark didn't actually want, he just needed a kid.

Like I cannot think of any decent way that this confusion with Normals parentage can be explained. And the way both twins are so uncomfortable with it makes me think it cant be something as simple as an orgy or a kink thing. What the fuck happened? Will we ever know? Will I always just think the worst of the twins??? What happened to them to make them like this??? (I know what happened to them to make them like this and it was very sad and bad) How bad of a dad was Henry after season 1 that Lark and Sparrow thought any of these were a viable option?!

And also Normals mom I think admits pretty early on that she had a thing with Lark before she even met Sparrow? So I thought her and Lark dated for a bit and then a few years later she meets Sparrow, they fall in love, have kids. But that doesn't seem very likely now does it?!

[obaewankenope]

Part Six of Absconding With Harry verse is COMPLETE

Absconding with Harry Verse (series) here

Part Six here

Final chapter of part six here

Or below, idec:

Term starts up again with the sort of flourish term normally starts up with; mild elation at seeing friends again and the sudden, crippling realisation that exams are soon and homework aplenty. Harry—and the other second years—choose their third year subjects a week after term restarts. Harry—like Ron—chooses his subjects with less Thought and Deliberation and more ‘Oh I hope I don’t hate this one’. He keeps on with Care of Magical Creatures but picks up Arithmancy, Runes—both Ancient and Modern, which are Quite Different Apparently—and the much more accurate Muggle Studies[1].  The difference between Harry and Ron’s approach however lies in how Harry is a little more invested in learning new things because he Likes To Learn whereas Ron is just doing what is easiest[2].

“Ron you can’t just close your eyes and pick randomly!” Hermione is horrified by Ron’s lack of consideration for his future. Harry is a little torn between being impressed by his friend and concerned himself.

“Why not?” Ron asks, shrugging and doing precisely what Hermione says he can’t. “Not that difficult when I leave it up to blind chance,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at the subject he’s blindly picked. “See.”

Hermione rolls her eyes at him. “And what if you end up picking—I don’t know—Arithmancy or something that you don’t want to do?” Her tone of voice is a little sharp, perhaps a little nasty but it rolls off Ron like water rolls off a duck.

“Pick a different one,” he replies nonchalantly and Hermione groans. “Oh, hey, Divination. Should be easy. George picked that one and always says it’s an easy pass.”

“We’ll have only one class together beside the core ones,” Harry comments, looking at Ron a little sadly. He’d like his friend to be in his classes with him but, sometimes, it’s necessary to choose options for yourself and not Because You Want To Be With Your Friend All The Time. In another lifetime Harry might have chosen the same classes as Ron. In another lifetime Harry might not have cared about his future or what any adults really thought of the subjects he took. In another lifetime Harry would have been very used to Relying Only On Himself.

Fortunately, this is not that lifetime.

“That’s all right,” Ron says and means it. “At least I’ll have the easiest homework out of the three of us,” he jokes and Harry laughs.

Crowley gives Harry free reign for one night—and one night only—to ask the demon every question the boy can think of regarding Arithmancy and Runes but retains the right to not answer depending on how Dangerous the topic is. This pleases Aziraphale who remarks to the demon—after they’ve settled down for the night—that Crowley ‘quit suits this parenting lark’. Crowley, naturally, responds with a ‘right back at you’ that makes the angel blush beautifully[3].

The diary remains hidden in Harry’s belongings as, after the revelation of it regarding Hagrid, the boy had been reluctant to give it to his uncles because it could have more information about the Chamber. Logic told Harry that he ought to trust his uncles, that he needn’t be the Hero and fight the fight for everyone, but logic is easily ignored if one is adept at rationalising one’s actions to the point of making even the more irrationally illogical action perfectly reasonable[4].

Fortunately for Harry, he has two friends are a little more practical and not as averse to trusting adults—though Ron, as the second youngest and last boy of a group of six is a little used to taking care of things himself because ‘well, mum’s always busy shouting at the twins, or cooing about Percy and Ginny’ which he is not at all bitter about[5]—and needle the black-haired boy until he eventually caves and agrees to Tell Them.

Of course, just as can be expected with Harry’s luck, the moment he decides to actually tell Aziraphale and Crowley, the diary goes missing. His belongings are strewn around the dorm room, bed mostly in tatters save for the sturdy wooden frame, and Ron looks as disturbed as Harry when they realise only the diary is missing from his belongings.

“Harry,” Aziraphale says and everyone can hear the Disappointment in his voice. “You really ought to have told us about this sooner.”

“Sorry uncle ‘Zira,” Harry says rather lamely. “I just- I don’t know, I wanted to but didn’t. I don’t know why.”

Crowley ruffles Harry’s hair, reassuring the boy with the act. “Because you’re a teenager soon,” Crowley quips, making Harry smile slightly. “Just starting the rebellious phase a little early is all.”

Aziraphale gives Crowley an unimpressed look but doesn’t say anything because Harry is looking a little less guilty and upset about everything now. “What—you mentioned something about the book—diary—showing you things?”

Crowley focuses on Harry’s nervously twitching fingers and Aziraphale recognises the look on the demon’s face as a look of realisation—what the realisation is, Aziraphale doesn’t know, but he has no doubt Crowley will tell him.

“I- it- my bag split on the way to Transfiguration the day I found it in the girls bathroom on the third floor,” Harry says looking at them both. “All my books were covered in ink but the diary- it was completely dry. I checked it later in the dorm and tested it with more ink and—well I wrote in it because I was curious. It kept absorbing the ink and not really doing anything until I wrote my name.”

“What did it do when you told it your name?” Crowley is tense—tenser than Aziraphale has seen the demon since those days last year with that shade on Quirrell’s head—and the sight does little to reassure the angel.

“It talked to me.”

“What—ah—what did it say?” Aziraphale asks gently and Harry sort of shrugs.

“Told me it’s name was Tom Riddle and that it was the diary of a student who had been at Hogwarts the last time the Chamber was opened,” Harry answers—a little reluctantly, but he answers nonetheless—and Aziraphale sees how Harry’s shoulders hunch a little as though the child expects to be punished.

Truthfully, Aziraphale would love to reprimand Harry for not telling them about the diary sooner, but one glance at Crowley reveals that neither of them are willing to do so when Harry obviously feels bad enough about not telling them. It would do no good for Harry to be told off by them when he so obviously expects it and Aziraphale has no desire to hurt his son—yes, that’s what Harry is, he’s accepted it—when he’s already hurting.

Instead, the angel reaches out and pulls Harry into his embrace, ignoring the slight flinch of Harry’s shoulders at the contact. The boy relaxes into his embrace, all-but melting against him seeking comfort and reassurance that Aziraphale gladly gives.

“It’s all right Harry, I’m not mad; neither is Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, feeling Harry cling tighter to him, head burrowed in the fabric of Aziraphale’s coat. “We’re just worried dear heart.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, voice muffled by the soft beige coat and Aziraphale strokes his hair gently. “I was gonna tell you both, I promise, but it was like I just couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, Harry.”

Aziraphale and Harry both look at Crowley who seems grimmer than ever. The demon is looking at Harry with a tender expression in his serpentine eyes.

“Uncle Crowley?”

“I mean it,” Crowley says, firm and Aziraphale frowns. “Things like that diary protect themselves. You’re only able to tell us now because you don’t have it anymore. It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been able to ignore it though!” Harry exclaims, eyes wet and face a picture of angry self-loathing that Aziraphale wants to immediately sooth away.

“Listen to me Harry,” Crowley says and his voice is sharp and commanding. It’s the voice of a being that is not Kind or Gentle but is Powerful and Utterly Unrelenting. It’s the voice of someone who expects to be Listened To Now. It’s a voice Aziraphale seldom hears from the demon. But Harry stills and stares at the demon with wide-eyes. “You can’t fight things like that,” he continues voice still sharp and commanding. “It’s not something anyone can fight. The compulsion is subtle, so subtle that you don’t notice it—it’s designed that way. You’re human Harry and that thing—whatever it really is—is evil of a type that you’ve never dealt with before. You can’t fight it because you have no idea what it is and how it works. This isn’t your fault.”

Harry is silent, staring at Crowley with wide, emotion-filled eyes and Aziraphale feels the need to chip in. So he does.

“Your free will was taken from you by the diary, Harry,” Aziraphale explains, gently, and the boy looks at him. He doesn’t quite understand it, Aziraphale can tell, but Harry believes them which is what matters. “But you could have kept this from us, not told us about it at all when the diary was no longer controlling you.”

“I almost didn’t,” Harry admits. “Ron and Hermione convinced me.”

Aziraphale smiles benevolently and it’s a bright, warming smile that soothes aches and pains in Harry in ways the child will never realise. “But it was your choice to tell us,” he points out. “That counts for far more in the end.”

Harry is sent back to his common room—to his friends who are waiting for him and who he needs more reassurance off after telling his uncle’s everything—leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to Talk[6].

“Do you know what it—the diary—is?” Crowley looks at Aziraphale with the kind of expression one normally wears when asked a stupid question that is impossible to answer but still stupid nonetheless.

“Do I know what it is? What am I—God?” Crowley snaps and he’s irritated and worried and very, very afraid but Aziraphale doesn’t deserve the spite. “Sorry angel.”

Aziraphale, in his typical fashion, waves off Crowley’s apology, more focused on the situation than on feelings. The demon is aware that six thousand years of knowing each other enables Aziraphale to know when Crowley is just venting and to not take it personally when he gets snippy.

“It’s evil, that much we both can agree on,” Aziraphale says and Crowley nods because, yes, it is definitely evil. He hadn’t noticed it before but there had been echoes around Harry—so faint that Crowley could have easily mistaken them as faded impressions of his own demony-ness—that spoke of something Not At All Nice. “Do you know of any sort of evil that could—I don’t know—latch onto a physical form like a book?”

“We both know several angel,” Crowley replies, flicking his wrist and miracling a glass of wine into his hand. He throws back a considerable amount of it before speaking again: “that’s the problem. Too many options and no real way of narrowing it down.”

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale miracles his own wine—the same vintage as Crowley’s—and together they drink their way through a considerable amount of alcohol in a short period of time.

Later, when they’ve drank what is probably far too much to be wise, they’re both sort of slumped on the sofa in their quarters, leaning into each other instinctively seeking the other out. It is a comfortable, affectionate scene that speaks of familiarity and trust built on shared experiences.

It’s all very sweet but Harry is in the midst of a nightmare at the same time, hissing out desperately in parseltongue that wakes Ron and has the ginger boy shaking his friend awake in a panicked rush.

“Harry!” Ron half-shouts, not quite loud enough to wake the other boys in the room—for it is well known boys sleep like the dead most of the time[7]—but more than enough to startle Harry awake. “Harry!”

The Indian boy comes to with a gasp, grasps at Ron’s hand on his shoulder and heaves out heavy breaths as the world of consciousness returns to him. “R-Ron?”

“Are you all right?” Ron asks, quieter and hushed but so full of concern for his friend that Harry seems to grip his hand tighter. The ginger boy is aware that Harry didn’t have a good childhood before the professors adopted him and he wonders if Harry was hurt by the people who were meant to love him. It’s heavy stuff for a twelve-year-old to think but Ron is nothing if not capable of being mature and responsible when his friends are in danger[8]. “Should I get your uncles?”

Harry shakes his head. “No,” he pants. “No, it was just- not fun.”

“Don’t think nightmares are meant to be fun, Harry,” Ron says with a little humour and is relieved when Harry cracks a smile at him. It’s weak but a smile is a smile and it counts. “Wanna talk about it?” He asks, a little nervously, a little cautiously, but determined. If Harry needs to talk to someone about his nightmares then Ron will be there for his best friend.

Harry sort of shrugs. “It was weird,” he says after a moment. “Like I was reliving a memory not just having a—you know—nightmare.”

Ron bites his lip. “Think the diary…” he trails off, not wanting to finish the thought but Harry grimaces at him.

“Maybe,” the dark-haired boy says, “I didn’t have it long but- if uncle Crowley is right then it’s evil and maybe it—I don’t know—maybe it was… possessing me? Is that- can a book do that?” Harry looks at Ron and Ron can see the fear in his friends eyes, the fear Harry can’t quite hide.

“Dunno mate,” Ron answers, sitting on Harry’s bed. “Don’t know that much about dark magic and the like. We could ask Hermione or I could owl my dad and see if he might have an idea?”

“Wouldn’t your dad ask why you’re asking him though?”

Ron shrugs. “I’ve grown up with Fred and George lying to mum and dad since I can remember, not that hard to think something up; extra homework or maybe just say I overheard Malfoy saying something weird—dad would love to go and toss Malfoy manor again!”

Harry grins. “He really would, wouldn’t he?”

Ron gives Harry a grin himself and shoves up off Harry’s bed. “Right, I’ll do that tomorrow then,” the ginger boy says, returning to his own bed. “You be all right now?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I need more sleep anyway.”

“Night Harry.”

“Night Ron.”

Hermione, as usual, dives into the library the moment Harry and Ron bring up the possibility of books possessing people. Ron still writes to his dad, figuring out the best way to word his letter with Harry offering up words he randomly finds in a thesaurus that’s seen better days. Some of the words are most certainly not the kind of words Ron would typically use but they sound smart and interesting and both boys accidentally commit them to memory[9].

“Do you think we should mention our theory about the Chamber?” Hermione asks Harry during a brief break in her systematic destruction of the library for information on people-possessing-books. “To your uncles, I mean.”

“Uh- didn’t think about it to be honest.” Harry blinks. “Probably a good idea, yeah? Maybe they’ll know about a student that died? Or can find out?”

“Can’t really hurt to ask can it?” Ron asks and the question is definitely rhetorical but Harry and Hermione both shrug. “Let me just finish this. I’ll take it to the owlery at lunch.”

Aziraphale—being the librarian—is watching the trio and other students with his many celestial eyes and notices the way Hermione has searched out books all about possession and sentient objects. It makes him worry enough to send a little celestial message to Crowley on the matter and the demon responds with a promise to see the angel as soon as his class is finished.

Incidentally, this means that when lunch arrives and the trio are about to head out of the library—their class having been cancelled because someone decided to try and exorcise Binns again and caused a bit of a disaster in the History of Magic classroom—Crowley appears in the doorway and gives the three of them a knowing look.

Aziraphale comes up behind them and the three children look between the two adults, realising that Aziraphale has indeed been paying attention to them in the library and no, they’re not quite as subtle as they thought they were. It’s a good lesson for them in the art of being sneaky but Crowley won’t point that out when there’s more important things to discuss.

Like possession.

“You didn’t tell us you were missing hours,” Crowley says as measuredly as he can while gripping the teacup in his hand with such a tight grip that the ceramic is starting to crack under the pressure.

“I- I wasn’t sure if I was,” Harry stutters awkwardly, head hanging so he doesn’t have to look at his uncles. Hermione and Ron bracket Harry on the sofa in their quarters, a plate filled with a selection of lunch options on the coffee table in front of it. Ron is happily munching away while Hermione rather nervously twists a napkin in her lap.

“You thought you were just zoning out, perhaps?” Aziraphale asks, calmer than Crowley but just as worried as the demon. The children can’t sense it but both angel and demon are well-aware of how concerned they are about this development.

Harry nods. “I thought maybe Quidditch was just exhausting me more, Oliver is going rabid over practices since Malfoy got on the Slytherin team.” Ron nods supportively, agreeing with Harry while Hermione rolls her eyes at the way Ron makes a supportive noise through a mouthful of ham butty[10].

“Well—that uh- that narrows down the options quite a bit really,” Aziraphale finally says after a moment and Crowley makes a disgusted noise.

“Not really angel,” the demon says, “just means we can rule out hexes and curses on the damned diary. Possession usually means demonic—or angelic—or something connected to souls.” Crowley grimaces. “I don’t know which of those I’d prefer.”

“Oh the souls, most certainly,” Aziraphale says, sipping his tea. “We can handle those without reporting to our head offices and—well—you know.”

Crowley’s grimace grows. “Fair point.”

Hermione looks between them, frowning in the way she does whenever she’s confused or doesn’t understand and wants to. Crowley still finds that sort of determined dedication to understanding and knowledge to be very—he wouldn’t say “adorable” but it is adorable—reminiscent of the first woman Crowley ever knew. It’s a high mark of praise for the witch but sometimes she chooses the worst times to question things.

“What do you mean ‘head offices’?” Hermione asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I told you Hermione,” Harry says, “uncle ‘Zira is an angel and uncle Crowley is a demon. That’s why he’s got snake eyes.”

Hermione huffs. “Angels and demons don’t exist Harry.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Hear that angel,” he says, looking at Aziraphale. “We don’t exist apparently.”

“Really Crowley, now is not the time,” Aziraphale says and Crowley just smirks. “Miss Granger—Hermione—I’m sure you have a lot of questions for us, but right now I do think it wise to focus on the matter of this diary. If what Harry was shown by it is accurate, then we may well be able to do something about this Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin monster. Which, I’m sure you agree, is a good thing.”

Hermione—amusingly enough—looks visibly torn between agreeing with Aziraphale and arguing some more. Crowley finds the irritation the young lady is capable of expressing without saying a word to be fantastically entertaining; especially when she’s irritated at his angel and said angel is enjoying the frustration just a little.

“Oh fine!” Hermione gives Aziraphale a sharp look that is brilliant for Crowley to witness. “But I’m not going to drop this!”

“Of course not,” Crowley says, distracting the girl. “You’re human. Never drop nothing you lot; not even if it bites you.”

Harry snickers and Crowley throws him a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes at Crowley’s antics but the focus is returned to the more important issues and the tension dissipates.

“So, probably something soul-related for the diary,” Crowley says suddenly, snapping up from the chair he’d sort of poured himself into earlier. Aziraphale gives him an unimpressed look for startling the kids with his sudden movement but Aziraphale gives him unimpressed looks for lots of things. “Shades, ghosts, demon-made deals, actual souls shoved in books, lots of options really.”

“But most have the same solution,” Aziraphale points out.

“What?” Ron looks at the librarian.

“Fire.”

Everyone looks at Hermione who is staring at Crowley with a determined look on her face.

Crowley nods. “Fire. Not any kind of fire though, hellfire would be best.” He frowned. “Guess that’s my job then.”

“What about Hagrid?” Harry asks suddenly. “The diary said that Hagrid opened the Chamber fifty years ago but if the diary is evil…” he trails off.

“Then maybe Hagrid isn’t the one who opened it then,” Ron finishes, nodding. “Maybe it was that Riddle kid? He sounded kinda slimy with all his awards; like he was making up for something or trying to show off.” Ron looks at Harry. “And you said he was a Slytherin!”

“Oh don’t believe that rubbish about one house being evil,” Crowley tells Ron, rolling his eyes. “Only thing for Slytherin is all the ‘purebloods’ and money they have. Makes the lot of them entitled, not evil.” He pauses. “Definitely stupid though.”

Aziraphale bites back a sound that is suspiciously like a laugh making Crowley smirk at the angel. “Yes well, be that as it may,” the angel says, tugging lightly on his lapels in a nervous gesture. “We really ought to send you lot off to your classes before lunch is over. Crowley and I will speak to Hagrid about the Chamber and see what we can find out. Anything he knows might be helpful.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately begin protesting at Aziraphale and Crowley ‘taking over’ their investigation until Crowley snaps his fingers and silences them.

“It’s like you three think you’re the only ones who can figure this stuff out.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “We’re gonna talk to Hagrid later tonight when you’re meant to be in your dorms since there’s a monster attacking students out and about. Just wait in the common room and we’ll tell you tomorrow what he says.”

Aziraphale gives Crowley a little disapproving look but really, the kids are already involved and this way they can try and mitigate the risk to the three of them. If they forbid them from getting involved, Crowley just knows they’ll go off and do stuff and not tell them about it. That’s not something that will end well so Crowley’s choosing a lesser of two evils—ha—and keeping them involved but not outright in danger.

Hagrid won’t want to talk about his past with the kids he feels close to—least of all Harry when the assistant-professor has grown pretty attached to the kid—and Crowley doesn’t think it would be fair to force him to just because the kids want to know.

“This isn’t about you,” he says quietly. “Do you think Hagrid is going to want to talk about this to you three? He won’t want to talk about it to us but it’s worse if you have to tell children you care for about things you’re ashamed of.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?” he mouths since Crowley still hasn’t returned their voices.

The demon snaps his fingers to do just that and Harry repeats his question.

“Imagine you’re Hagrid,” Aziraphale says, saving Crowley from having to explain it and really, Crowley just wants to curl up and avoid this topic but he started it so he’s going to stick around for it. “You have something you’re ashamed of, something that is connected to the death of someone and expulsion. You put it behind you and then suddenly it comes back and you have children who you teach, who trust you, asking you painful questions and maybe accusing you of doing things you might not have done.”

“Oh.” Harry looks down at his feet. The other children are similarly contrite.

“We’ll tell you what he says but give them man some dignity, please,” Crowley says, promises, begs, and all three kids nod. “Thanksss.”

That evening, Crowley and Aziraphale head to Hagrid’s cabin on the grounds, both of them nervous and reluctant to actually ask the assistant-professor about this but they needed to know.

They’re met at the door by Dumbledore who looks very not pleased behind that veneer of geniality, a blonde-haired man who just bleeds nastiness, and a short, pudgy-faced man with a bowler hat who seems rather harried.

Crowley hates both of them immediately.

“Honestly! This is becoming ridiculous!” The bowler-hat man exclaims and Crowley’s eyes narrow. He’s not wearing his sunglasses and the effect of his narrow-eyed stare is one that makes the short man pale when he looks at the demon. “Oh Merlin! What are you!”

“That’s a little rude,” Aziraphale comments, drawing the man’s attention to him and the bowler hat man blanches at the cold look on the angel’s face. “Manners maketh and such.”

“What’s going on?” Crowley asks, voice deceptively mild as he enters the cabin, forcing the bowler hat man to back up hastily to avoid him. Aziraphale follows the demon and closes the door with a gentle snap. No one is leaving the cabin without going through the angel—not an easy task considering the look in Aziraphale’s eyes either. “Nice little get together and you didn’t invite us Rubeus? I’m hurt.”

“Really dear, I’m sure Rubeus planned to invite us,” Aziraphale says, giving Hagrid a smile. The assistant-professor returns it weakly.

“Who are you?” The tall man with blonde-hair and a haughtier than haughty expression demands in the tone of voice one uses when they expect to be obeyed. Crowley wants to hiss at the man for that imperiousness alone. Reminds him too much of bossy angels and slave-driver demons.

“We’re teachers—well I am, he’s just the book lover,” Crowley points at Aziraphale who gives him a Really Dear look that makes Crowley’s lips quirk in a smirk. “Came down to have a chat with Rubeus actually, need to work on some lesson plans with him.”

“That- that won’t be happening,” the bowler hat man says, trying for firm but sounding a bit more like a child wanting to be in charge and failing. Crowley wants to give the man a reason to pass out from sheer terror but with Dumbledore in the room- Crowley settles for giving the man a nasty stare. It makes him recoil. “Ha- Hagrid will be coming with me.”

“Oh, got some important meeting you need him to attend? Some beast you can’t figure out? If it’s a snake I’m more than suitable for the task,” Crowley asks mockingly.

“T- there’s been four attacks on Muggleborns! The ministry has to be seen t- t- to act! I have to do something and- and Hagrid—well—his past speaks for itself.” The man stutters, growing more confident as he goes. “I’m under a lot of pressure see, got to do something. If it isn’t- if Hagrid is innocent, then he can come back. But—well—I’m going to have to take him with me. There’s aurors waiting at the gates.”

“Take me!” Hagrid exclaims and he’s trembling from fear and it’s something that makes Crowley angry. He doesn’t like it when he sees someone afraid and isn’t sure they deserve it. It grates at him. “Take me where?”

“I- well- it- just for a little while,” the bowler hate man gets out and Hagrid lets out a scared whine that has Crowley stepping in front of his assistant.

“You can’t just detain someone without proof you know,” the demon says silky-smooth. He’s got his eyes locked on to the bowler hat man—who he suspects is the minister—and Crowley wants to just curl around him and crush. “You need evidence to justify holding someone.”

“Evidence! There’s- there have been four attacks!” Fudge exclaims. “That’s- that’s evidence enough!”

“Not against Rubeus it isn’t,” Aziraphale points out and the bowler hat man who might be Fudge gives him a glare. “Only that there’s someone carrying out attacks.”

“Unless you have actual evidence that proves Rubeus is behind this, you can’t take him.” Crowley is firm and refuses to back down now. Not now. Not when he can feel the fear from Hagrid, not when he can taste the anger and hate in the room from the blonde-haired man. Not when he’s all that stands between Hagrid and being caged liked an animal.

Hagrid hasn’t done anything to justify this punishment. It’s something Crowley just knows like he knows how many stars are in the sky. It’s something… ineffable.

So no. He won’t be moving. Nothing can make him. Nothing.

“He was responsible for the attacks fifty years ago!” Fudge exclaims like that’s reason enough and maybe it is, but Crowley has no intention of giving the minister of idiocy any sort of In. “That is reason enough!”

“One student accuses another of being responsible, a monster of some sort escapes and the person assumed to be responsible is expelled,” Crowley recites what Harry told them verbatim. “That’s not really proof of guilt.”

“Plenty of room for reasonable doubt, I believe, dear,” Aziraphale adds from the door and Crowley nods.

“You’re not taking him.” Crowley stares Fudge down, eyes shining their serpentine gold and he can see the way the man is starting to sweat as instincts swell and tell him that he’s In Danger Right Now. The instincts are correct.

“Y- you can’t stop me! I’m the Minister for Magic!”

“And I’m a demon, big deal,” Crowley replies, utterly unimpressed with the almost childish tantrum Fudge is now giving him. “Minister for Magic means you run the country, not that you can do whatever you like idiot. Now get out.”

“I can do whatever I like!” Fudge stomps a foot and he really is a child, it’s crazy. The wizard in charge of Wizarding Britain is basically a five-year-old. How auspicious.

“You- you really can’t.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “I knew a fella who thought he could do what he wanted when he was in charge. Got his head lopped off by peasants for it. Wonder who’ll take your head.”

Fudge’s tantrum ends suddenly at Crowley’s words and the short wizard stares at him horrified. “You- you,” he stutters, “you’re threatening me?”

“Of course not,” Crowley says, “why threaten when you can just do? Besides, I don’t need to do a thing to you; you’ll get yours soon enough. Your type always do.”

“Amusing as this may be, I believe the reason for this visit is two-fold, minister,” the blonde-haired man drawls and Crowley really, really wants to hiss at him.

Fudge looks at him. “Ah yes, yes mister Malfoy, it is,” Fudge says and Crowley’s eyebrows rise a little in surprise.

This is Draco Malfoy’s father? It’s no wonder the kid is the way he is, Crowley realises. The man in front of him all but bleeds the kind of aura that would make any other demon salivate over a Really Good Meal.

“Albus,” Fudge says, looking at Dumbledore. “I- mister Malfoy- well… the board of governors had a vote after this latest attack on miss Clearwater—lovely family, can’t imagine how they’re feeling—and well- it’s been decided that you—this isn’t personal Albus, I do want you to know that—but well-”

“Oh just spit it out would you!” Crowley snarls and Fudge jumps. “Honestly, I’d rather listen to Hastur babbling on about a tempting than you right now.”

“The board of governors has unanimously voted to remove you as headmaster immediately,” Malfoy says smoothly, stepping forward. “It is felt that, considering the number of attacks that you have failed to prevent, it is necessary for action to be taken.”

Crowley snorts. “Oh I’m sure,” he mutters. “No proof against Rubeus means you can’t take him but a shiny little scroll with some signatures means you can displace Dumbledore. Sneaky.”

“Yeh can’t take Albus though!” Hagrid exclaims, horrified from behind Crowley. “The muggleborns won’t stand a chance!”

“Oh sure they will, because we’re gonna have a chat and you’re going to tell us what you know and then the angel and I are gonna sort it,” Crowley says, waving a hand.

Fudge stares at him. “What- what are you- you’re out of your mind.”

“Least I’ve got one to be out of.” Crowley turns away from Fudge who starts to realise he’s just been insulted. “Angel, see him out would you? I don’t think I’d send him anywhere nice if I do it.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says and with a snap of his fingers, obliges Crowley’s request. Fudge disappears mid-sentence and the silence after his disappearance is surprisingly welcome.

“That was quite impressive.” Malfoy looks at Aziraphale with a glint in his eyes. “Apparition isn’t possible on the grounds of Hogwarts as far as I’m aware.”

Crowley snorts.

“Ah well, that was—strictly speaking—not apparition,” Aziraphale explains a little awkwardly. “It was—uhm—well—”

“Magic,” Crowley quips. “Obviously.” He looks at Malfoy. “Weren’t you going to run off with a Dumbledore trailing after you? Some of us have things to be doing.”

Malfoy takes the hint—fortunately—and with a last calculating look at both of them, leaves Hagrid’s cabin. Dumbledore remains behind long enough to reassure Hagrid who seems more broken up about the headmaster leaving than he was about being dragged off to Azkaban. It’s not Crowley’s business, obviously, but that sort of thing does speak to a lot of dependency issues. Too much loyalty and too little common sense in his opinion.

Then again, Crowley’s opinion got him tossed out of heaven so maybe he was biased.

Aziraphale bustles about Hagrid’s cabin making tea for the assistant-professor who literally dropped into his chair the moment his door was shut. Crowley gives the large man—he’s got to be more than just a regular old human, maybe some giant in there?—an awkward pat on the shoulder before dropping down into a chair himself.

Hagrid probably wants to lament Dumbledore’s leaving but Crowley finds he has absolutely no desire to discuss that affront to colour and fashion right now. So he decides to steer the conversation before it even starts by asking Hagrid outright to tell them about the Chamber.

“So, you got blamed for the Chamber and the dead student; wanna explain how and why your creature wasn’t to blame?”

Hagrid’s tired, pale face closes up—which is impressive when Crowley can see the tear-streaks running into the wiry beard from the man being so relieved to not be heading to Azkaban.

“We’re not asking because we think you were responsible, Rubeus,” Aziraphale explains, setting three large mugs of steaming tea on the table in front of them. He sits down next to Crowley and automatically the demon leans in a little toward the angel. “But anything you can tell us may help.”

“Yeh think yeh can find who’s attacking people?” Hagrid asks and he sounds dubious and doubtful but there’s a little spark of hopefulness there that Crowley can sense and that Aziraphale tugs on to help bloom. “I was just a kid an’ I liked takin’ care of creatures. People called ‘em all beasts and monsters but they weren’t. Just misunderstood an’ all tha’.”

Crowley shifts a little in his chair and Aziraphale places a hand on his leg, a reassuring weight that the demon focuses on. “So you were taking care of something that was probably dangerous to others?”

Hagrid lets out a noise. “No! No! He would never hurt anyone! He was just scared of bein’ in the castle! It wasn’t him!” The man grips the mug of tea in his hands and the liquid sloshes from the shaking limbs. “He just wanted to leave the castle but wouldn’t tell me why.”

“So your creature was afraid of something else?” Aziraphale frowns. “That suggests that it was something your beastly friend naturally feared; a predator perhaps?”

“It’d have to be a predator angel,” Crowley points out. “Don’t know that many prey animals that hunt fresh meat.”

Aziraphale grimaces. “Ah, yes, fair point.”

“What was your creature, Rubeus?” Crowley asks. “That’d help us narrow it down.”

Hagrid flushes a little and looks down at his mug. “He’s an acro….” He mumbles, trailing off at the end.

Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other. “A what?” Crowley asks.

Hagrid breathes out. “An Acromantula.”

Aziraphale frowns. “What—ah—what is that?” he asks looking at Crowley. “Crowley?”

The demon stares at Hagrid. “You…” he breathes slowly. “You had a giant man-eating spider as a kid?”

Aziraphale startles. “Oh- oh my, that- well.”

Hagrid looks at them both, glancing between them. “But he wouldn’t have hurt anyone! He couldn’t!” Crowley laughs. “No, he really couldn’t. I might be pants at magic but I weren’t so bad that I couldn’t make charms to keep ‘im where I had ‘im. Besides,” Hagrid adds, “an Acromantula gets someone and there’s nothin’ left to find really.”

Aziraphale shudders.

“He’s right,” Crowley says. “It wasn’t Hagrid’s pet people-eating spider. Something else attacked the students fifty years ago and is attacking them again now.”

“But what is it?” Aziraphale asks, looking very vexed.

“Dunno,” Hagrid answers. “But Aragog was dead scared of it. Refused to leave the Forest no matter what I said.”

Aziraphale looks at Hagrid. “The Forest?” He repeats and blinks. “The Forbidden Forest? Your- your beastly friend is in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Acromantula’s can live a long time.” Crowley ignores the noise Aziraphale lets out at that little bit of information, more focused on trying to think about what spiders are afraid of.

There’s birds of course, like any insect or arachnid, something with wings can pluck them up and have their merry way with them. Of course, Crowley doesn’t know of any magical bird that would try and pick a fight with an Acromantula. Neither did Hagrid either if he still hasn’t figured it out.

There’s snakes, as well, but snakes are—well—Crowley knows of every type of snake there is. He doesn’t know any snake that’s big enough to eat a giant version of a spider except for him when he feels like growing.

Toads, lizards, monkeys, all of them eat spiders but again, none so big as an Acromantula.

Crowley hisses out a sigh. “Whatever Aragog is afraid of, it’s got to be in the castle, which means it needs to be able to hide somewhere.”

Aziraphale and Hagrid both look at him.

“Yeh- yeh both believe me?” Hagrid asks timidly. Crowley and Aziraphale both nod—though Crowley rolls his eyes—and the large man smiles. “I- thank yeh both!”

Crowley waves a hand. “Don’t mention it. Really. Don’t.”

Aziraphale gives Hagrid a smile. “You’re welcome, Rubeus, but really, you ought to be listened to no matter what. Quite dreadful how you were treated,” he says and Hagrid’s smile turns watery from feelings.

Crowley sighs. Typical of the angel to go and do the feelings thing and make Hagrid love him. Not that Crowley can blame Hagrid—Aziraphale just has that affect on people. It’s the angel in him.

Crowley is more interested in the ‘little bit of bastard’ part truth be told.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione receive a sticky-note version of what happened in Hagrid’s cabin which leaves the three of them exchanging looks and obviously planning to do some intensive research on what could scare a giant spider so well. Crowley figures it’s safer to leave them to that than tell them not to get involved and only wants to slap himself with a handful of holy water after Hermione is petrified during the last Quidditch game of the year.

Crowley accompanies McGonagall when she takes Harry and Ron to the infirmary, intending to look at Hermione himself and hope—pray, he’ll even prey—that he can find something there to tell him what attacked her.

Of course, he’s stood next to McGonagall while Harry and Ron are flush against the hospital bed, quietly grieving and blaming themselves for leaving their friend to go off to the library alone. She had a mirror with her for some reason which niggles Crowley in ways he doesn’t quite understand. Neither Harry or Ron have any idea either and McGonagall escorts them back to their common room in silence, leaving Crowley staring at Hermione with a pensive expression on his face.

Aziraphale joins him soon after.[11]

“Do you know what did this, my dear?” the angel asks and Crowley nods. “What was it?”

“Snake.” Crowley sighs. “It’s a snake.”

Aziraphale blinks. “Really? But- but what snake would- Crowley I don’t know of any snake big enough to attack a giant spider.”

“The mirror.” Crowley points at the mirror on the nightstand by the bed Hermione lies on. Aziraphale looks at it. “There’s an echo to it no one else can see. Don’t look—” he grabs Aziraphale’s hand when the angel makes a move to look. “—it’d affect you, angel or no.”

“But not you?”

Crowley shrugs. “I’m a snake. Can’t affect me when I’m what it came from.”

“What- what are we going to do?” Aziraphale asks after a moment.

“Nothing to do except kill it, angel.” Crowley’s face is closed but Aziraphale has know this particular demon for six thousand years. He knows when Crowley is trying to hide how he feels about something.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. It’s a mark to how upset his demon is that Crowley doesn’t shrug the hand off. Instead, the demon leans into the touch just a little.

“It is what it is, angel.”

But that doesn’t make it is. What needs to be done is sometimes the hardest thing to do, especially when it’s choosing between something you’ve made and thus love and something you’ve found and love as well.

Aziraphale goes to find McGonagall to put the school on lockdown while Crowley and Aziraphale go hunting for a giant snake. It’s not going to be easy for them to find but now Crowley knows it’s a snake, he can call it out himself. In theory. Of course, that’s when they discover that Ginny Weasley is missing, the mandrakes are ready, and there’s a message in paint or blood declaring that her bones are going to remain in the Chamber forever. It’s not exactly enjoyable but it does spur McGonagall into getting all the students rounded up in their common rooms.

Harry and Ron sneak out of Gryffindor tower and come across Crowley in the corridors near the second floor bathroom. The invisibility cloak is useless against Crowley because he can smell them long before he’d ever need to see them which ends up with Harry and Ron being glared at by an irate demon.

“We know where the chamber entrance is!” Harry exclaims before Crowley can miracle them back to their common room. “But we’ll only show if you promise to take us with you!”

Crowley agrees only because it would help to know where the damned Chamber is and snaps his fingers to alert Aziraphale to come to where he is. The angel appears in a single second, just there and perhaps it finally sinks in for Ron that he is indeed an angel.

The boys lead them into the bathroom on the second floor—the girls bathroom—and engage in a brief conversation with a ghost that seems a little too familiar with Harry. Crowley decides he’s going to miracle the ghost away when all is said and done but there’s more pressing things to deal with so he focuses instead on the fact that Harry is inspecting the taps on the sinks in the bathroom.

“It’s this one, see,” Harry says, “there’s a snake symbol. This is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

Crowley looks around at the bathroom. “Bit anticlimactic really, a bathroom,” he comments and Aziraphale rolls his eyes at him.

“Just open the Chamber, Crowley,” Aziraphale instructs and Crowley does just that, speaking in the hissing sibilance that comes as naturally to him as flying.

The Chamber opening is a little more dramatic but still falls flat considering everything. Them having to slide down a huge chute to get to the Chamber is just stupid but for a snake it’s a decent entry point. Crowley is tempted to transform here and now but holds off until they come to the Chamber proper.

None of them expect to see a boy in outdated robes standing inside the Chamber looking quite comfortable while Ginny Weasley lays unconscious at his feet.

Ron and Harry instantly rush over to Ginny, Aziraphale with them to keep them safe and check on the girl. Crowley instead approaches the boy, his eyes narrowed and nose twitching. There is evil here and it comes from the boy.

“It’s no use,” the boy says. “She’ll be dead soon.”

Ron jumps to his feet. “She’s my sister!” Aziraphale holds the boy back with a gentle grip that Ron doesn’t fight and the strange boy just stares at him blankly.

“She’ll still be dead soon,” the boy repeats and Crowley’s lips curl in disgust. Insensitive bastard. “So will the rest of you.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Crowley asks, sauntering up to the boy who stares at him with that dead expression and those very, very empty eyes. People describe snake and shark eyes as cold and dead, empty of anything but these eyes that Crowley stares into—they’re deader than anything ever made by the Almighty.

“Slytherin’s beast will answer me, it’s time really,” the boy answers after a moment, like he’s sizing up whether it’s worth answering Crowley or not. Evidently it is because the boy begins to—well—gloat at them. “All year I’ve been using her to set it free. Unfortunately it’s only ever managed to petrify people but it’s no matter—it still fulfilled its purpose in terrorising the mudbloods.”

“Ginny would never help hurt anyone!” Ron snarls, pulling against Aziraphale’s grip and the cold-eyed boy laughs.

“Not willingly no, too weak and pathetic to ever do it herself,” he sniffs, smiling a dead smile. “But the more she wrote to me the easier it was to use her to do my bidding.”

“You’re from the diary?” Harry realises, frowning. “You’re Tom Riddle.”

The boy—Tom Riddle—smiles again and it’s such a wrong smile. “I am,” he confirms, “and you—” he points a wand that must be Ginny’s at Harry “must be Harry Potter.”

“I am.”

Riddle nods. “I thought so. Tell me,” he says, stepping toward Aziraphale and the kids but he’s stopped by Crowley stepping between them. He glares at Crowley who doesn’t even bother to glare back. “Tell me, how is it you survived the killing curse?”

“What’s it matter to you?” Harry demands. “You weren’t there.”

Riddle pulls himself up taller—not much taller considering he’s stood next to Crowley who is much taller than him—trying to be impressively intimidating but it falls flat. “You survived a curse that no one can survive cast by the most powerful wizard of all time,” Riddle states, staring at Harry. “Tell me how?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because he’s Voldemort.”

Everyone looks at Crowley in varying states of surprise. Riddle recovers first.

“So you figured it out,” he drawls, looking Crowley up and down, and that dead smile seems contemplative. “I’m impressed.”

“Not hard to figure out considering how little of a soul you are,” Crowley answers with a casual shrug. It irritates Riddle into glaring at him.

“For now,” the boy agrees. “But soon the girl will be dead and I will be whole.”

“Not if we kill you first,” Aziraphale says from beside Ginny. The angel’s face is closed, the face of an angel of God not one who hides in books. This isn’t the time for softness and Aziraphale knows it.

Riddle laughs. “You can’t! I’m immortal.”

Crowley actually laughs. “Nah,” he says, “you just think you are. But you’re only human—mostly. And humans die.”

Riddle steps away from them all and Crowley remains where he stands. “Not all humans die,” Riddle declares. “I shall be the first to prove that immortality is possible.”

“Not the way you’ve gone about it.” Crowley gives Riddle a sharp smile, one that shows the fangs Crowley rarely lets be seen. It gives Riddle pause. “Not your fault, too scared of dying like regular people. Shouldn’t have split your soul though; makes you weak.”

“I am not weak!” Riddle points his wand at Crowley and fires off a spell of sickly green light. It never touches Crowley who just snaps his way out of the line of fire. “I am Lord Voldemort! I am the greatest wizard ever known! Every witch and wizard fears my name!”

“Not me, Tom,” Crowley laughs from behind the boy who spins around and throws another green light spell at him. Again Crowley snaps his way clear. “You’re just an uppity human too scare of death.”

Riddle stops talking then, focusing on trying to kill Crowley—and he is trying to kill him, the green light he throws at the demon every time is unmistakeable—but he always misses[12].

“Where’s the diary?” Aziraphale looks around the trio of children, a little desperately, and both boys start looking around also.

“There!” Harry exclaims, pointing toward the massive relief of a man’s face on the far side of the Chamber. In the water near the base of the relief is a small rectangle-shaped object. The diary. “I’ll get it!”

“Harry—” Aziraphale tries and fails to grab Harry’s hand as the boy darts forward, racing across the Chamber while Riddle and Crowley dance about. The angel performs a miracle that sees to it Harry won’t be harmed by any stray magic but he’s more focused on having his child back here now­ than on paying attention to whatever Riddle is saying.

Aziraphale realises rather abruptly that he should have been paying attention.

The stone relief shifts, the mouth of the face opening wide just as Harry reaches the diary.

“Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of Hogwarts four!” Riddle is standing facing the relief, hand out. From within the statue a sound like wind rustling through trees emanates.

It is not the sound of wind in the trees.

“Kill them!” Riddle orders and the giant serpent that emerges lunges immediately for the nearest living thing to it.

Harry.

“NO!” Aziraphale screams. Ron screams.

Crowley roars.

The basilisk is slammed into mere centimetres from Harry by a form as large and as scaled as itself. Something far older and far, far more powerful.

Something that is protecting its young.

“Harry! Get back here now!” Aziraphale shouts and Harry turns, eyes wide, face paler than ever. “Now!”

Harry throws himself across the Chamber and collapses beside Aziraphale and Ron, the diary clutched in his hands. Aziraphale rips it from him, drops it on the floor and without even hesitating, slams the small dagger he pulls from his coat into the heart of it.

It screams.

There’s no other way to describe it. The diary screams an unholy sound that pierces their ears and makes both boys hunch over in pain. Aziraphale grits his teeth and focuses.

“BE GONE FOUL FIEND!”

Riddle screams in tandem with the diary, his form crackling, beams of golden light bursting out until he suddenly explodes in a rush of light.

The moment the diary is no more than shrivelled, burnt husk of a book, Aziraphale pulls Ginny and Ron toward him, snagging Harry with his hand, and miracles them out of the Chamber directly to the infirmary.

Crowley is left to deal with the king of serpents alone.

Not that he needs the help.

The basilisk is strong, it’s a thousand years old, but it’s nothing compared to a demon like Crowley. Nothing compared to the one who created serpents long before the world existed. It hisses and snaps at him, tries to use its eyes against him, but it can’t because Crowley cannot be petrified.

He’s protected because he is the source of its power like he is the source of all serpents.

Any other snake would recognise him, defer to him. But this basilisk is mad with age and isolation, given purpose by a shade and doesn’t care anymore. It’s as rabid as any snake can be and it’s a mercy to put it down.

Crowley doesn’t feel merciful when he tears flesh and scales from it. Doesn’t feel merciful when it does the same and he takes more in return.

He feels nothing but a burning wrath of selfish protectiveness and when he plunges his fangs into the neck of the basilisk, he digs deep and pours hellfire into it, burning the basilisk to nothing but a hollow shell of what it was.

It’s death throes are dramatic but end soon enough.

Aziraphale is waiting in Dumbledore’s office for Crowley. The angel, Ron, and Harry were dragged up there the moment Pomfrey informed McGonagall of their sudden appearance with Ginny—bleary-eyed and confused but mostly okay, the girl remained in the infirmary. He knows Crowley will be fine. Even if he’s discorporated, he’ll come back. Bit awkward explaining the paperwork but Aziraphale knows Crowley is More Than Capable explaining his actions in a favourable light.

That doesn’t stop him from pacing fretfully while Harry and Ron sit quietly. McGonagall is calling Ron’s family, the Weasley’s distraught over their missing daughter so suddenly returned when the door to the office opens and Aziraphale stops, smiling at the door.

His smile drops when he sees Albus fucking Dumbledore there instead of his demon.

“Headmaster!” McGonagall exclaims, ending the firecall. She stares at Dumbledore who gives her a twinkling nod. “You’re back.”

“The board reinstated me when they learnt a student had been taken into the Chamber,” Dumbledore informs them, looking at Ron and Harry. “Your sister is perfectly fine mister Weasley. Madame Pomfrey is keeping her in the infirmary overnight to give her a chance to rest.”

Aziraphale doesn’t give two-hoots what else Dumbledore is about to say when the headmaster turns to look at him but is fortunate to not find out when the door opens again and Crowley storms in.

Well, ‘storms’ isn’t quite accurate.

It’s more like Crowley half falls, half stomps inside the office, walking at an angle like he’s lugging a heavy suitcase in one hand and Aziraphale looks to see and—it’s not a suitcase.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims, disgusted. “That is unsanitary!”

“It’s dead, angel,” Crowley responds, lugging the head of the basilisk inside the office that it shouldn’t fit inside but does. He drops it in a messy pile beside the door, makes his way over to Aziraphale and gives the angel a smile. “Not a problem anymore. Poked its eyes out.”

Crowley is saved from whatever Aziraphale is about to say to him when the door to the office opens again and Lucius Malfoy marches in with Cornelius Fudge behind him. A house-elf follows but that’s an afterthought[13].

The fire flares to life and the Weasley parents step through into the office and this makes the office quite full. The head of a basilisk adds nothing to the décor or the smell but it does make it quite interesting when the newcomers all realise it’s there.

“It’s dead,” Crowley points out helpfully and his smile is wide and toothy, fangs in full view, eyes brighter and golden and no longer even pretending to be human. Aziraphale seems to stare at him for a while, focused on Crowley’s eyes. The demon resolves to ask the angel about that later. “No eyes either. Perfectly safe now.”

“The- the creature from the Chamber of Secrets I presume?” Malfoy asks and Crowley nods. “I see. How was it—dispatched?”

Crowley’s grin widens. “By me.”

No one seems to know how to take that statement.

“Th- that’s preposterous! You- you’re-” Fudge splutters and Crowley finally, finally does the one thing he’s wanted to do since he met the man.

The demon snarls a hissing warning, the kind that a particularly large and angry cobra makes when it’s been pissed off. It has the desired effect of freezing the short bowler-hat-wearing idiot mid-sentence.

“Now dear,” Aziraphale says, placing a hand on Crowley’s harm. “No need to traumatise the man, he seems delicate enough as is[14].”

Crowley snorts. “Understatement.” He looks over at Harry and Ron. “You okay?” he asks and both of them nod at him.

Molly and Arthur Weasley are beside Ron in a moment, evidently overcoming their own shock and whatever fear they feel to be with their son. They lecture the boy even as they praise him but it’s a little too heavy on the lecturing for Aziraphale’s tastes but they’re his parents. He’ll simply praise Ron for his bravery later.

“The snake is dead, it was the diary—” Aziraphale holds up clear bag with a mostly destroyed diary in it—fire is effective at destroying things after all—with a prim smile “—and the mandrakes are ready early,” Crowley says and just like that, the mandrakes are indeed ready early and madame Pomfrey is able to start applying the potion to students the moment it’s finished by Snape and Sprout are finished with it.

No one can argue with what Crowley has said because there is indeed proof the snake is dead—a great big head—that the diary is responsible—confirmed when curse-breakers take a look at it and sense the echo of Pure Evil—and the mandrakes are ready when Sprout is heard screeching about them and running pell-mell down the corridors to Snape’s quarters to drag him to his office to start brewing.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Malfoy from being a pretentious dick about things or Fudge from stuttering and spluttering in pointless outrage, but it is entertaining to witness.

This is how Aziraphale realises something about the house-elf behind Malfoy who seems to be performing a complicated charades routine to them. It’s Harry who realises what the house-elf is about.

Long-story-short, Harry ends up winning the loyalty of a house-elf named Dobby that is freed when Lucius Malfoy somehow gives the house-elf a sock quite miraculously after storming out of Dumbledore’s office. Fudge leaves in a quiet huff after Dumbledore reassures him that there is no cause for alarm. Ron goes back to the Gryffindor common room with McGonagall, the Weasleys head to the infirmary to see their daughter and Harry goes with Crowley and Aziraphale to their quarters in the library.

The rest of term passes in a gentle haze of exams—not cancelled because Aziraphale just refused no matter what argument Dumbledore made—and bright June sunshine until it’s time for the train to depart from the station and the trio return to London for another summer.

Unbeknownst to them, things are in motion and by the time of Harry’s thirteenth-birthday a strange dog will show up on their doorstep and dog-the-mongrel will take quite kindly to it leading to Harry adopting another pet no matter what angel or demon say.

[1] Prior to Aziraphale and Crowley arriving at Hogwarts, Muggle Studies was a bit of a joke subject; the sort one took to get an easy grade because you could make up quite literally anything you liked about muggles and come out with a top mark. Naturally, considering how wildly inaccurate the class was, both immortal beings took offense at it and set to revising it with the sort of dogged-determinedness that only Offended people seem able to achieve. Thus, politics, economics, science, culture, and a whole host of other things—including music and literature; respectively Crowley and Aziraphale’s insistence—now form the bulk of the new curriculum for Muggle Studies. It is a daunting amount of information shoved into four years’ worth of schooling—should students continue into seventh year—but it has made the subject highly desirable and viewed favourably by higher education and future employers alike.  

[2] This is an unfortunate side effect for Ron of being one of seven children and the second youngest. He’s quite used to just dealing with things himself. This also, as a result, means he doesn’t have much ambition beyond being noticed and paid attention to by his mother. Any reason will do at some point. Especially when his mother is ever so focused on her children doing well but seems to forget that Ron needs support and attention beyond the basics of parenting. He feels a little pushed aside compared to his little sister, a little forgotten compared to Fred and George’s antics, a little stupid compared to Percy, Bill, and Charlie. But he loves his family. Which makes all those feelings a horrible little mass inside him that he feels guilty about feeling in the first place. In the end, this is partly why it is a good thing that this is not the same lifetime where Harry is not raised by an angel and a demon—if it were, Ron would feel outdone by another child whom his mother would essentially adopt as an extra son.

[3] If Crowley spends several hours a day fantasising about that blush then that is his business and Not To Be Discussed Further.

[4] It will take another few years before Harry is effectively out of this mindset enough to automatically trust Crowley and Aziraphale with everything and anything that even remotely poses a threat or is Of Interest. This is actually quite good and shows an amazing amount of progress for someone who grew up emotionally abused by people who were supposed to love them. Of course, considering some of the things that will happen to Harry in the next five years, it is somewhat irritating for him, Crowley, and Aziraphale collectively. Not to mention Hermione and Ron.

[5] This is actually true. Ron isn’t bitter about his siblings getting more attention from his mother than he does. He gets plenty enough after all. But he would rather prefer his mother get his favourite colour right for once so he doesn’t have a maroon jumper to wear for Christmas.

[6] For once this is actually what they intend to do, not just prevacate around the issue but actually Speak Organised Thought Words About It. This is, naturally, a daunting task and something of Cosmic Importance.

[7] The author is most certainly not basing this on their experiences with brothers and male friends who all have this exact thing in common. To the point that one friend sat up in a dead sleep, muttered something about “it not being right” and then flopped back down to sleep next to the author who was partly crushed by a big as fuck rottweiler who was the softest thing ever. And also very gassy.

[8] Adults often assume that children aren’t capable of being this sort of self-aware and practical. Adults are—as is to be expected—often wrong about children.

[9] This, incidentally, is a good thing for when exams start since both of them are able to explain and elaborate on what they’re saying in their charms essays. Filius is beside himself when he realises that both Ron and Harry are more than smart enough to understand more complex concepts in charms and sets himself the task of encouraging both of them to continue charms past fifth year no matter what.

[10] A “butty” for ya’ll to know is a sandwich but “butty” is very much a common word in the UK and especially where I live in the North West so hush.

[11] Aziraphale deigns to walk through the castle to Crowley’s location as opposed to miracling himself beside the demon. Part of this is to give the angel time to think and part of it is to give the demon time to think. There are many things that must be done and many things that must be decided. Time is needed but stopping time would be a pointless waste considering how precious time is currently.

[12] He does come close a few times that have Aziraphale biting at his knuckles as he remains with the kids. He’s waiting for his opportunity to miracle them out of the Chamber and also take out the diary but he is a little distracted watching Crowley literally dance with death.

[13] Of course, dear readers, we know this house-elf is not an afterthought but this lot don’t know that.

[14] This is, of course, an understatement considering how very sensitive Fudge is to any sort of criticism or critical thinking that doesn’t mesh with his deluded world view.