Chapter Text
“The name’s Anthony, right?”
Crowley jerks up from his half-asleep state, the train window smudged where his forehead had rested against it, and for a moment the question is so familiar that his heart beats in a tap-dance rhythm without first consulting his brain. He breathes slowly to calm himself and looks to the compartment doors, which he hadn’t heard open over the steady hum of the train rattling his ears. In the doorway stood two older boys, total opposites of each other– the right one was taller, with matted sandy hair, pale skin, and eyes black like the night sky between stars; meanwhile, the other was shorter with dark skin and hair– but both looking like they hadn’t paid any bathtub a courtesy glance since January, and matching silver and green patterns on the borders of their cloaks.
The younger boy cleared his throat. “Crowley, actually.”
The right one gave him a look-over like one might size up a rather ugly dog and scoffed before the left boy spoke. “Bee said their little brother was starting Hogwarts this year. We’ve heard so many rumors, we had to see the squirt for ourselves.”
Crowley gripped the seat cushion below him tightly. He should’ve figured Bee would have already told their friends all about his arrival to the school of wizardry. He also should have guessed from first seeing them that these two knew his older sibling; all of Bee’s friends had the same unpleasant air to them, and of course they all, like Bee, were proud Slytherins.
“That’s Bee’s brother all right,” grunted the pale-haired one. “Look at those–” he waved a hand in the air– “glasses. Probably bein’ used to hide something…suspiciously curse-like.” His friend sniffed and grinned slowly in agreement.
“My name’s Ligur, and this here is Hastur.” He thumped the other on the arm. “We’re Bee’s mates,” he added smugly, as though this was some great honor. From how Bee bragged about their reputation at Hogwarts, strutting around their peers like a messy-haired prince among commoners, perhaps it was.
“Heard that you have some unusual abilities.” Hastur’s gaze felt like it was burning through the lens of Crowley’s sunglasses. “Might be useful to have someone like you around in the Slytherin house.” Ligur nodded.
“Two Starr wizards in the same house sounds like a nice boast over the other houses to me,” he cackled. Before Crowley could explain to them that he would rather take a hundred-foot dive into a pool of boiling sulfur before joining the Slytherin house, a familiar drawl came from behind the two intruders.
“Oi, you two morons stop harassing my brother and come play Exploding Snap with me.” Hastur and Ligur turned around to face Bee who, despite being several heads shorter than them both (Crowley himself, despite being three years younger than them, was already the same height as his sibling), exuded a sense of authority that had them straightening up rather quickly.
“Just wanted to make sure all the fuss was worth it,” Hastur explained. Bee rolled their eyes.
“You’ll be sitting near him at dinner soon enough. Now come on, Dagon is waiting on us.”
As the two Slytherin boys exited the carriage, Bee shared a half-amused, half-exasperated look with Crowley.
“Don’t mind them,” they said. “They’re useful to have around, but they can be…a bit much sometimes.” The way they spoke about their friends reminded Crowley of how their father would speak about his associates in the Ministry. Useful. “I promise all Slytherins aren’t like them, so I’m sure you’ll make your own friends. And I’ll be there too, of course.” The corner of their lip turned up, and their encouragement was the closest thing to kindness Bee ever shared with anyone. Still, Crowley felt his stomach sinking lower with every word they spoke.
“Anyway, See you in the great hall.” With that, they turned back the way they came.
“Great hall. Right. Ciao,” Crowley muttered as the doors slammed shut behind them, and he was left alone in the carriage. He tried to rest his head back against the chilled glass and doze off again, but the Slytherins’ faces kept leering from behind his eyelids, and his father’s parting words from the station kept looping in his head like the Queen vinyl records he would play on repeat back home.
“Make your family proud, Anthony. Remember where you came from and who you are now.”
From anyone else, those words might be a form of support for their eleven-year-old son who was about to go off on his own for the first time. To Crowley, they were as far from comforting as he could possibly imagine. They were a warning.
As he was just about to drift off into a fitful sleep, the doors to the carriage opened again, and he was once more unwillingly brought back to full consciousness.
“Oh! Er– terribly sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was in here.” He opened his eyes at the posh voice to see a cherub of a boy standing in the light of the open doors. A mop of pale yellow curls lay above a rounded, rosy-cheeked face and eyes that glittered with anxiety as they examined the red-haired boy that sat twisted in the corner of the compartment. Crowley figured that he was a first-year from the way his fingers worried at the bottom of the frankly horrendous jumper he was wearing– but the strangest thing was that he was carrying all his things with him, despite the train having left at least an hour ago.
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. "Still haven't found a seat, have you?"
The boy’s hands fluttered. “Well, actually, I did, earlier; I was in a compartment with a few other first years, but a girl ran out from the carriage across from us crying– apparently the others in the carriage were being very rude about her magic prowess– so I invited her to sit with us, since there was nowhere else available nearby, but there wasn’t exactly enough room for us all, so I…” He twisted his hands together as he trailed off, not making eye contact.
“You gave your seat away,” Crowley finished for him. Strangely, a smile had started to creep across his face as he watched this peculiar boy fret over his own act of kindness.
“I suppose so,” the boy said, finally looking at Crowley. He glanced away and then back again, before adding, “I know it was probably impolite of me to leave the other kids like that, but she couldn't just sit alone with all those– those bad people the rest of the way to Hogwarts! I…do hope I didn’t do that wrong thing. I did hope to make some friends here, and I may have just ruined my only chance.”
Crowley snorted. As if selflessly giving up a seat to someone getting bullied would ruin anything. “You seem like some sort of magic guardian angel to me,” he observed, taking in the boy’s softly rounded appearance and blond hair that glowed like a halo. “So I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”
A smile, the widest Crowley had ever seen, grew across the boy’s face, and he pulled all his stuff with him as he sat down across from the sunglasses-clad boy.
“Oh, thank you,” the other said. “It’s been bothering me, er…” The angelic boy looked at him expectantly.
“Crowley,” he said, with a nod of his head that sent a strand of curly red hair falling in his face. The boy’s smile somehow grew wider.
“Aziraphale,” he introduced himself, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he sat down. “Lovely to meet you.”
They didn’t have time to start a conversation before the food trolly arrived, and although Crowley wasn’t particularly hungry, he saw Aziraphale’s eyes widen at all the options. For some reason, though, he hesitated when the witch asked if he wanted anything, his gaze flickering to Crowley.
“Go on, then,” Crowley encouraged him. But Aziraphale bit his lip and looked away.
“I probably shouldn’t– My older brother has been warning me about getting too soft with all the sweets I’ve eaten recently…”
Crowley scoffed. “That’s rubbish,” he declared, rolling his eyes even though the action was unnoticable with his glasses in the way. He turned to the trolly witch. “Two pumpkin pasties, two chocolate frogs, and a cauldron cake,” he demanded, handing over the appropriate amount of coins. When she left, he slid the extra chocolate frog and pumpkin pastie over to Aziraphale, who shook his head.
“I told you– I really shouldn’t–”
“Oh, come on,” Crowley practically hissed. “Just a couple pastries isn’t going to make a difference, now, is it?”
Aziraphale stared at him a moment before giving in. “Yes, alright,” he sighed, but his cheeks were round with a grin as he munched on the sweets, eating the two pastries and then the other chocolate frog and cauldron cake Crowley left untouched, not being much of one for sugary foods.
“So, you have a brother?” Crowley asked, wondering what kind of prat this guy must be to berate his eleven-year-old sibling about his eating habits. Aziraphale nodded and replied around a mouthful of cauldron cake.
“I have three siblings, actually, and a cousin who attends Hogwarts,” he replied. “Gabriel is the oldest; he’s a fourth year. Michael and my cousin Sandy are in their third year, and Uriel is in her second year.” He fiddled with the now-empty wrapper in his hands. “They’re all in Gryffindor and are quite talented, so I have a lot to live up to.”
Upon hearing the name Gabriel, Crowley had nearly choked on the pumpkin pastie he was slowly nibbling. He made sure to swallow carefully when Aziraphale finished talking.
“You aren’t…You’re the youngest in the Ansel family, aren’t you?” Crowley asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Aziraphale smiled softly. “I am. Hence the ‘lot to live up to.’”
Crowley nearly groaned. He didn’t know much about the other siblings, but Bee talked about Gabriel Ansel all the time at home, about his pompous attitude and great plans to reform the wizarding world when he became the next Minister of Magic after his mother. Their father would shake his head in secondhand disgust during these times, usually using Bee’s rants as an opportunity to throw in his own hateful comments about the Ansels, especially Francis Ansel and how she ran the Ministry.
“Er, well, I relate to that, in a way,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck. The truth would have to come out sooner or later, so it might as well be now. “I’m the youngest in the Starr family, you know. Bee Starr– you might have heard of them, same year as Gabriel– is my older sibling.”
The dumbfounded silence after this admission clung to the air like static, until Aziraphale blinked and cleared his throat.
“I suppose that means we shouldn’t be talking, then,” he said softly, a slight sense of mourning wrapped around his words. A mourning for something the universe had declared wasn’t meant to be, like in all those wordy muggle plays Crowley was forced to read during his homeschooling years.
Crowley shrugged, eying Aziraphale through his sunglasses somewhat mischievously, a look well known by his family for proceeding one of his more clever jokes or schemes.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
At this, a smile, if somewhat nervous, blossomed on Aziraphale’s face again. “Yes; I guess it’s no one’s business but ours, is it?”
As the train continued towards their destination, they got lost in easy conversation, which quickly turned to the topic all first years were inevitably clamoring about: Houses.
“Seeing as my entire family is famous for being in Gryffindor, I assume that’s where I will be sorted, as well,” Aziraphale said, though Crowley noted he sounded somewhat blasé about the whole thing. “There has never been much debate about it. According to Gabriel, the Sorting Hat has to barely touch the hair on our heads before it sends us to the red and gold table.”
Crowley nodded from where his head was resting in his palm. “Same for me; I mean, I only have the one sibling– which is more than enough, I don’t know how you can handle three– but my family is considered ‘the Slytherin’ pureblood wizarding family. So everyone assumes I will follow in their footsteps.” He sighed dramatically and watched the green hilltops blur together through the window.
“But…that’s not what you want?” Aziraphale pressed, his voice soft, like any sound louder might shatter the trust that had sprouted between the two new star-crossed friends.
“Not really. I…” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I don’t really like my family all that much. Most of them are pretty awful, and they pride themselves on it. I was hoping that here I might be able to be my own self, you know? Live my life without my father hovering over my shoulders twenty-four seven.” He said it matter-of-factly, as it was a sentiment that he had repeated to himself for years now, but Aziraphale’s mouth twisted downwards and his eyes seemed to become more gray, like darkening rainclouds.
“I’m sorry.” His lips parted like he was going to say more, but then he swallowed and looked down at the table. “I guess it is rather pointless to speculate, anyway,” he pointed out, his voice forced back to normal. “The Sorting Hat will choose, and that will be that.” He straightened his back and nodded primly, and Crowley figured he too had been telling himself the same comforting words over and over for several years.
“I wonder how the Sorting Hat decides these things, anyway?” Crowley wondered, still half-watching the scenery outside fly by. “Seems like it would be easier to just have a– a brief bubble-in quiz. Or even a poll. ‘Hey kid, check one: Are you smart, nice, brave, or clever? Great! Here’s your home for the next seven years.’”
“But– but that would ruin the whole point!” Aziraphale argued, huffing indignantly. “The whole reason there is a Sorting Hat is because the houses are more complicated than those one-word descriptions. I’m sure the Hat takes many factors into account, and it’s been used successfully for decades, might I add, so it’s best not to question its methods now. It’s all– all–” he stuttered for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right word to describe whatever it all was. “--Ineffable,” he finished, looking proud of himself. Crowley couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows disbelievingly. He had already had his suspicions, but now from his vocabulary he was even more certain: Aziraphale was either terribly clever, or he read an obscene amount of books. Most likely both.
“...What does that even mean?” Crowley asked.
“Ineffable, you know,” Aziraphale explained, unhelpfully. “Too great or complex to be put into words.”
“The Sorting Hat’s methods are ineffable?”
“Well, I would think so. I mean, no one really knows how it makes its decisions, now, do they?”
Crowley shook his head, unable to reply. Frankly, he didn’t care if the Sorting Hat played eenie-meenie-miney-moe or flipped a four-sided coin to choose a house, as long as he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin with Bee and all their ‘friends.’
If there’s any god out there, he thought to himself, please just don’t make me be stuck with them for the rest of my life.
(Of course, if any proverbial god had been listening just then, they most likely would have laughed and replied with something like, “Don’t worry; very soon, that fear will be the last concern on your mind.”)
Aziraphale had read all about the Great Hall in Hogwarts, A History and had listened to his siblings describe its grandeur, but nothing could compare stepping into the room in person and looking up to see an explosion of the cosmos above their heads, blues and purples blended together in a starry collage unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen. He heard Crowley breathe out in awe beside him.
“You can see all the constellations,” his new friend– no, they couldn’t be friends… acquaintances, at best, really– murmured. “Ursa major, Draco, Casseopia…”
Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the enchanted ceiling and looked at Crowley, who was staring at the sky in rapture, the stars dimly reflected in the blackness of his glasses.
“You know a lot about stars,” Aziraphale pointed out.
The corner of the other boy’s mouth flitted up. “Yeah. My dad has a lot of books about astronomy lying around. Always wanted to learn more about it.”
A nervous hush captured the first years as Professor McGonnagall– Aziraphale recognized her as the head of the Gryffindor house– placed the Sorting Hat on a rickety wooden stool. The silence then spread to the entire hall as students and teachers alike stared at it in anticipation. Slowly, as though enjoying the drama of the moment, the hat opened the mouth-like cut near its brim and began to sing.
“‘Twas many long years ago
When four friends sewed a dream,
And from their hands grew this home
Older than my seams.
Yet their bond was shaken since
They could not see eye to eye;
But though quarrels broke friendship true,
Watch their dream still shine:
Gryffindor honors whom
Cut the dark with light,
Like a fire that burns from ash,
They’re strength, hope, and might.
Ravenclaw shelters those
Who wonder at falling skies,
Painting stars, constructing dreams,
Always asking whys.
Hufflepuff is home to smiles,
Laughter, love, and golden days,
But above all those who know
Good shines in many ways.
Slytherin is for the lost
Among the shadows we rarely see,
Who cut their paths with hand-carved blades,
Quick, smart, tough, and free.
Each house holds precious gifts;
Together they glow like candlelight.
Take them apart, or rip them down,
And we’re drowned in the night.”
As the room erupted into applause, Aziraphale furrowed his brows. He had been enjoying the song with everyone else– especially since it proved his earlier point that the houses could not be summed up in one word– but the last two lines struck him as incongruous with the rest of the song’s tone. Was it normal for the Sorting Hat to give ominous warnings at the end of its songs? Aziraphale made a note to ask one of his siblings about it later.
Currently, his attention was being taken by Professor McGonnagall, who had rolled out a piece of parchment and begun reading from the list of first-year names. An “Aadams, Elliana” made her way to the front of the Great Hall and plopped down on the seat. Aziraphale took a deep breath as the hat shouted “HUFFLEPUFF!” from atop her curly head, and let it out as she walked to the yellow-adorned table and “Alby, Juniper” was summoned to the stool.
“You’re probably up next, eh?” Crowley nudged him in the side.
“I would expect so, yes,” Aziraphale replied, feeling simultaneously like it was Christmas morning and like he was awaiting the death penalty.
He vaguely registered Juniper Alby taking a spot with the Slytherins before his own name echoed across the hall.
“Aziraphale Ansel.”
There were a few murmurs as students recognized the last name, and Aziraphale caught sight of Gabriel flashing him an over-confident grin as he approached the wooden stool. He attempted to smile at McGonagall as he sat down, but her stern gaze was unwavering. As the hat was plopped unceremoniously on his head, he saw his siblings watching him from the Gryffindor table, not a trace of doubt in their eyes.
“Another Ansel, eh? There’s quite a lot of you now,” the Hat said to him, its voice strange coming from just above his ears. “The rest of you have been Gryffindors, I recall.”
Er, yes, Aziraphale thought in response. So if you could just go ahead and put me in there as well, that would be lovely–
“Hmm, Gryffindor for you? I can see courage in you, yes, and a strive for good, but you’re also curious, well-read, clever… You would be well received in Ravenclaw…”
Ravenclaw? Aziraphale’s chest constricted. Oh, no, I’m quite sure that Gryffindor is the right house for me. The wide brim of the hat was blocking his view of the students gathered in the hall, but he could imagine in precise clarity the looks his siblings were sharing at how long it was already taking for his sorting.
“They might think it is the right house for you,” the Hat said, following his thoughts. “But I can see your mind is better suited for another. Ravenclaw would fit you well, but even more so would–”
But I want to go to Gryffindor! Aren’t you supposed to take our desires into account? Aziraphale pleaded.
“You haven’t wanted to be like them for a long time,” the Hat responded. “Yes, it has got to be– HUFFLEPUFF!”
The final verdict rang in his ears and its vibrations made him tremble, like he had just been struck over the head by a church bell. His hands wouldn’t stay steady as he lifted the hat from his head. Immediately his eyes found those of his siblings’, which were wide and crinkled in shock and disgust. Aziraphale suddenly found it difficult to swallow normally.
With no other choice, the young wizard hurried to the Hufflepuff table, unwilling to draw more attention to himself than he was already receiving. He could hear muttering follow him as he searched for an empty seat. Probably discussing the first failure of the Ansel family, he thought to himself. He instinctively looked for Crowley in the cluster of first years as he sat down, and found the boy giving him a somewhat-smug, somewhat-reassuring grin. Despite himself, Aziraphale felt a little better.
Still, he refused to look over to the Gryffindor table as more young wizards were sorted into their houses, afraid of the looks his siblings might be sending his way. Meanwhile more Hufflepuffs slowly joined the table, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the excited cheers and welcomes for the new first-years. At least he might have a family here, even if his own family was rightfully disappointed in him.
He perked up as he heard McGonagall call the name “Starr, Anthony,” and Crowley walked forward, a swagger in his step which Aziraphale thought might be covering up nerves. His real first name is Anthony. He wondered where his friend– acquaintance– had gotten his nickname from. Aziraphale thought privately that Crowley suited him much better.
The surrounding students were once again whispering to each other, this time about Crowley. “Another Ansel and Starr kid? What are the chances?”
“Shh, he’s sitting right there!”
“D’you think Starr will also go against his family’s tradition?”
“Nah, look at him– he’s a Slytherin all the way through. Besides, haven’t you heard about his curse? He–”
Aziraphale stopped listening as the Sorting Hat was placed on Crowley’s head. There was a moment of tense silence, before the hat finally shouted, “RAVENCLAW!”
He got what he wanted, Aziraphale thought, clapping enthusiastically and then tamping it down after his neighbors gave him strange looks. Crowley caught his eye and gave him a subtle thumbs-up, sauntering over to the Ravenclaw table like he already belonged there, without even a glance towards the Slytherins. Aziraphale wished he had that kind of confidence. Then maybe you would have been put in Gryffindor, a nasty part of his brain told himself.
He turned his gaze to the Slytherin table, where there were a lot of angry expressions and mutters being shared. Aziraphale had never seen Bee Starr for himself, but had heard plenty of descriptions of them from his siblings, though all unflattering enough to conjure a mental image of a disease-ridden imp rather than a real person. Regardless, he was still able to identify them quickly enough; they had to be the wizard sitting in the very middle of the table, sprawled in their chair like it was a throne and a particularly nasty sneer contorting their face. They were staring daggers at Crowley– who had his back turned to them, already engaged in conversation with the other wizards at his table. Aziraphale shivered to himself. He didn’t know how Crowley did it; he noted to himself that he definitely didn’t want to get on Bee’s bad side anytime soon.
The sorting finally ended as “Zuigiber, Carmine” ran to the Gryffindors with a grin, and McGonagall carried the hat away. In her place, the headmaster stood and addressed the room. He was a distinguished white-haired man named Metin Troy, who Aziraphale had met on prior occasions when his mother met with her colleagues in the Ministry. He was her personal assistant before becoming the headmaster for Hogwarts.
“Yes, yes, I am happy to welcome you all to another year at Hogwarts. I hope all you first-years find your new houses and peers amicable.” Aziraphale could swear the headmaster’s eyes lingered on him as he spoke those words. “Now, just a few reminders before you get distracted by food and friends. The Forbidden Forest is, of course, off-limits. Our groundskeeper, Mr. Lindsay, would like to kindly remind everyone to check the list of banned items posted on his office door. And lastly, I am well aware that everyone may have different opinions on political and Ministry matters. Regardless, you all would do well to remember to respect your headmaster, and remember who he is.” His tone, previously casual, had become suddenly serious. The room stewed in his words for a moment, before he clapped his hands to dispel the tension.
“Enough announcements! Time to eat!”
Aziraphale only had a moment to worry about that ending before an entire feast appeared before his eyes. There were pork chops, sliced ham, steaming bowls of potatoes, freshly-baked buttered rolls, and Yorkshire pudding among many, many other dishes crowding the tables. Aziraphale’s mouth watered as he piled a bit of everything he could reach onto his plate.
“You’re an Ansel, then?”
A curious voice made him raise his eyes from his overflowing plate. Across from him sat another first-year who was smiling bashfully, while their dark eyes examined him with child-like fascination.
Before he could respond, they abruptly continued, “Well, that was a silly question– I mean, you’re obviously an Ansel, they read your name aloud and everything. Only it’s surprising you’re not in Gryffindor, isn’t it?”
“Er–” Aziraphale began.
“I understand how you feel,” the first-year said, their smile turning a bit sad. “My older siblings were in Gryffindor, too. My parents weren’t really expecting me to be like them, anyway, but I still don’t think they will be too pleased about this.”
Aziraphale raised his glass filled with some sort of sparkling juice. “To being outcasts, then,” he offered. The student grinned and clinked their glass against his.
“My name is Aziraphale, by the way,” he added after a sip.
“Oh! Right, I’m Muriel. Muriel Gingold.”
As the two were talking, Aziraphale failed to notice his siblings at the Gryffindor table, their heads together and eyes on him, whispering in low tones. Across the room, at the Slytherin table, Bee’s gaze was similarly fixed on a certain redhead, their darkly-painted nails already drumming the beginning to a battle march on the silver and green tablecloth.