(no subject)
It had all been a horrible, horrible mistake.
Crowley sat in silence, watching as the rather strange, bearded man hummed quietly to himself and tapped his fingers against his chin. Crowley had asked the man a question approximately two minutes ago and he had not yet replied.
“Er, excuse me?” Crowley finally snapped. “Bumblebee?”
“Dumbledore.”
“Yes, yes, whatever."
Dumbledore slowly returned from his reverie and looked Crowley in the eye.
“So, Mr Crowley, you are telling me that your friend - who happens to be an angel - reads books about our world?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Crowley said, for what felt like the one hundredth time.
“And that some how, he managed to get you sucked in, as it were, to our dimension?”
Crowley nodded, wishing to simply bury his head in his hands.
“Tell me - what are the names of these books?”
“Harry Potter and the something of something. Different every time. Really bloody pretentious kiddie-books as well, but Aziraphale seems to love them.”
“Curious..... how very curious.” Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard.
Crowley shifted nervously in his seat, wondering if Aziraphale was trying to punish him in some way. He tried to think back to any events that might have upset him enough to conduct an act of such cruelty. There had been that time when he’d chased out all the bookshop’s customers with a broom and a bugle - but of course, he remembered, Aziraphale didn't actually like customers. Perhaps it had simply been his lack of skill with a bugle.
There was also a time when he’d given Aziraphale his first birthday present in about a century, a mint-condition nine hundred year old text which he’d found extremely amusing to make self-destruct. But that had been ages ago, he’d hardly expect the angel to still be sore. In fact, the only real complaints Aziraphale made nowadays was that whenever he’d sit there trying to explain how ‘H/D is the OTP, OMG!’, Crowley would simply switch off, leaving Aziraphale to blabber on to himself or a room of frightened customers.
Back in the present - or whatever it was - Dumbledore’s attention had been switched to the door of his office, which had opened to reveal a sour looking middle aged witch presenting two petulant, completely dishevelled adolescent boys, both very red in the face.
“Professor,” announced the witch tetchily, who Crowley assumed to be the McGonagall that Dumbledore had mentioned. “I just found these two rolling around in the middle of the fifth corridor, scrapping like animals. Malfoy here had one of ‘The Monster Book of Monsters’ books and was trying to shove it down Potter’s trousers.”
Potter did look rather flushed.
“No points to be deducted, Minerva,” Dumbledore instructed placidly. “In fact, Draco and Harry are just the people I need to see right now.”
He indicated to Crowley, who hissed bad temperedly.
Professor McGonagall was hurriedly ushered out, and the two boys sat down (as far away from each other as possible). Dumbledore explained the entire affair again, taking a ridiculous amount of time, during which Crowley contemplated whether to invite the scrawny, ginger bird perched nearby to peck his eyes out.
“In conclusion,” Dumbledore finished. “I would like you, Mr Potter, to go and fetch Mr Weasly and Miss Granger, after which you will go and research this particular problem in the library with them.”
“There are....books about me?” Harry asked, gawping.
“Yes,” Crowley replied. “Written by Enid Blyton, I’ve no doubt.”
“!!!” said Harry.
“What do I have to do with all of this?” whined Draco, scowling. “Harry’s the member of the kiss-arse hero patrol here, not me.”
Harry growled. “I’m sure Snape would disagree with that.”
“Boys!” shouted Dumbledore as Draco almost leapt from his chair. “Enough!”
Crowley looked between the two schoolboys and rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t have been more obvious if they had been playing footsie with each other.
“Now, now, let’s calm down and consider the problem at hand.” Dumbledore said.
“What, for another three hours?” Crowley groaned.
Even after Harry had left, Draco did not become any more reasonable. He slumped further into his chair, hands shoved in his pockets, hips jutting out. He had rather nice hips, though, Crowley noticed....
“Well?” he demanded, cocking an eyebrow.
“Mr Malfoy, you are to be Mr Crowley’s entertainment for as long as he’s here.”
“What?!” said Draco.
“What?!” echoed Crowley - though with less indignation that he’d have liked to have felt.
“Crowley must feel very out of place, Mr Malfoy, and I’d like someone to look after him. Think - it must be quite baffling for an angel like himself in a place like this.”
Crowley coughed, and thanked the heavens (subconsciously, of course) for his sunglasses.
Draco reluctantly agreed - and perked up considerably upon realising that it would mean the rest of the afternoon, and possibly more, without lessons. They both got to their feet and were heading for the door when Dumbledore spoke again.
“I do hope you’ll enjoy each other’s company.” He said with a small smile, eyes twinkling.
“Pervert.” Crowley muttered.
*********************
“So what’s the deal with you and that Potter bloke?” Crowley asked, after they had travelled along several corridors in silence. Not that he minded - Draco was walking ahead and Crowley had a spectacular view.
“Nothing.” Draco snapped, stopping quite abruptly to face him. He was clearly was quite panicked. “I hate him. What do you mean? What are you suggesting? My father could have you killed!”
Crowley put up his hands, implying surrender. “Sorry I asked!”
They continued their journey without a word, until they reached a rather dank and dreary room, very much like a dungeon, containing only the barest amount of furniture. What was there was horribly ugly and cramped.
Draco was apparently happy to ignore Crowley, and slumped himself down on the sofa and began to read. Crowley hovered for a few moments, arms folded. He began to tap his foot, a sound which echoed loudly around the room.
“Stop that.” Draco commanded sullenly. “Just sit down and get be quiet, will you?”
“Charming!” Crowley scoffed and shuffled up on the sofa next to Draco, ignoring the little thrill he received as their sides touched.
“What’re you reading?” He asked after a moment.
“None of your business!” Draco snapped, pulling the book as near towards him as possible.
Crowley grinned. “Ooh-er, something embarassing, I’ll bet.” He lunged forwards and ripped off the makeshift cover Draco had clearly stuck to the front of it - not very effectively.
“Pride and Prejudice?!” Crowley shrieked. “Good grief!”
“Austen’s a brilliant author!” Draco retorted. “She broke boundaries of her time! Her characterisations.... her narrative style....”
As Draco rambled on, Crowley found himself remembering Aziraphale saying almost the exact same thing to him years ago. There must be a handbook or something, a guide for emphatic defense of really crap old books, he concluded. He could just see Zira now, going on and on, cheeks flushed with part embarassment, part enthusiasm.
“....it’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s a wonderful book.... it’s a classic, it....”
“Oh, will you shut up, angel?!”
Draco’s mouth fell closed, and his cheeks grew all the more red.
“What did you just call me?”
Oh, Satan. How to explain himself? Crowley blushed a little himself, something he hadn’t done for at least a millenium.
“Um.”
“That’s sexual harrassment, that is!” Draco declared.
“What?!”
“You can’t just call me ‘angel’ for no good reason, you...you....”
“It was an accident!” Crowley growled.
“Accident! Pah!”
“What’s wrong with you!?” Draco demanded, indignant.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Stop repeating everything I say! It’s...it’s just proof you haven’t got a valid point!”
“I certainly have!”
“Look. I’m.... sorry - that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I see! I see! You’ve brought me down here to have your wicked way with me!” Draco screeched.
“You brought me down here!”
“Ha! That’s just part of your ploy! Why don’t you just...”
Draco was cut off mid-flow once again, but this time it was because Crowley had lunged forwards and kissed him hard on the mouth. Draco made a rather choked noise, but there was no denying that he was kissing back. Crowley, now lying on top of him, was holding Draco’s wrists down rather firmly at his sides.
After a few more moments of heated kissing, Crowley pulled back. Draco looked up at him, mouth agape, completely speechless.
“Well, that’s one way to do it.” Crowley said.
Draco stared at him, then wriggled his wrist out from Crowley’s gripped, grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him again.
A second later they were rolling on the floor, tearing at each other’s clothes frantically.
“Aren’t you going to take your glasses off?” Draco asked breathlessly, when they had stopped rolling around for a moment.
“I’d really rather keep them on.” Crowley replied, working on Draco’s trouser belt.
“Oh God,” Draco said, eyes wide. “You’re one of those people with weird sex fetishes, aren’t you? You’re going to make me wear weird leather things and tie me to the bed, and force me to call you Linda, aren’t you?”
“What? No!”
Draco looked vaguely disappointed. “Oh. Suppose you’d better get on with it, then.”
***********
When it was all over, the two of them lay on Draco’s floor, breathless, sweaty and entangled. Draco had hurried them into his room quickly enough, as his classmates had already begun to pile back in to the common room after their afternoon lessons. They’d had to keep the noise down as well, which had been a bit of a problem.
“Well.” Said Draco cheerfully.
“Well, indeed.” Replied Crowley, burying his head into Draco’s neck.
“I just had sex with a complete stranger!” Draco announced, with a small squeal. Crowley found it rather charming.
He shut his eyes and lay there for a few moments, absentmindedly playing with the hair at Draco’s nape. He did not notice that Draco had carefully removed his sunglasses, and upon opening his eyes again, found himself on the receiving end of an ear-splitting yell.
“YOU’RE A DEMON!”
“IN THE SACK!” added Crowley hastily, convinced that the whole school would hear. “A DEMON IN THE SACK? REALLY, DRACO? YOU THINK SO??? WELL, THANKS! YOU’RE NOT TOO BAD YOURSELF!!!!”
Speech finished, Crowley immediately rolled on top of Draco and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Look, you stupid boy, do you want your entire house to come running?!”
“No, but they bloody will now, won’t they!” Draco spat, after managed having to pull away Crowley’s hand.
Crowley hissed unpleasantly at him, and Draco immediately recoiled, shutting his eyes tightly.
“Oh, God!” he whimpered. “You’re going to set me on fire and dance around me chanting, and then tie me to a bed and... and... eat me or something, aren’t you?”
“No!!! Good grief, Draco!”
Now Draco definitely was disappointed. “Honestly! Call yourself a wild and mysterious stranger?!”
“No, I really don’t,” Crowley mumbled and began to root around for his trousers. “Listen, Draco, it’s been nice but I really should get going. Have to find a way to get back to my angel. Uhm, my Zira. No, no! Get back to um... just plain old Aziraphale.”
“Oh, yes, can’t keep precious Aziraphale waiting, can we?” Draco muttered.
Crowley rolled his eyes. In the moments of carnal bliss, he had forgotten that Draco was not only a pretty face, but a whiny, persistent self-absorbed boy, as well. Crowley was strongly reminded of himself, and for the first time in his not-quite-life felt a strong pang of sympathy for Aziraphale.
“What about keeping precious Potter waiting, eh?” Crowley replied, imitating his tone.
“Stop that!” Draco’s voice was several octaves higher than usual.
Crowley did not reply, choosing to potter round the room, retrieving his items of clothing.
“So this is it, then?” Draco said a few minutes later, and Crowley turned to find him sitting propped up against the bed, sheets pooled around his waist and eyes brimming with tears. “You’re just using me and leaving me, is that it?”
“Essentially, yes.” Crowley murmured, zipping up his fly.
“Discarded like a cheap house-elf!” Draco cried, much to Crowley’s confusion. “Dumped like a worthless tart!” This time, Crowley nodded enthusiastically.
“I’ll see you around, Draco.” He said eventually, sounding rather weary.
Crowley turned to walk to the door, and around three seconds later found Draco in front of him, obstructing him effortlessly.
“I couldn’t convince you to stay any longer?” He asked, advancing slowly and forcing Crowley to take a few steps back.
“No, no, I really must be going.”
“Surely, just a few more minutes?” Crowley was backing up against the nearest wall now.
“Not even that, love.”
“What if I were to get on my knees and beg?” Draco suggested, batting his eyelashes.
Crowley smirked a little. “Not even if you were to get on your knees and do anything. Now, I must be on my way, Drac-- oh! OH! Um, well, yes, you can keep doing that if you want... I ... oh, sod it!!!”
At that moment, there was a sharp knock on the door, not that Draco seemed to be in the least distracted. Crowley opened his mouth, intending to say ‘come in’ but ending up saying ‘mmnnaappphh!!!’.
“Crowley?” said a voice from behind the door, that was unmistakably Aziraphale’s.
“Er... yes?”
“It’s me, dear! Listen, I’m sorry about this, it was all a complete muddle, all my fault. I... may have let you stay down here a tad too long, but I’m sure you’ve learnt your lesson now. Crowley? Hello? Are you coming?”
Crowley bit down hard on his lip.
“Is everything alright in there?” The doorknob rattled and Crowley’s eyes widened. “Ah - door appears to be locked, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Crowley watched, close to complete panic, as the bolt of the door slowly slid back and it slowly opened. He gave Aziraphale a sheepish grin, and watched as the angel’s face turned from complete horror to about as near rage as Crowley imagined he could ever get. Clearly, it was an unnatural thing for Aziraphale, who’s face had gone rather purple and was scowling like a two year old. He let out an angry huff and crossed his arms tightly.
“Er... perhaps later, angel,” Crowley said, and with a wave of his hand the door began to close. “Much later.”
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