Chapter Text
FIRST YEAR
It was the beginning of many things on that bright mid-morning. King’s Cross Station had flooded with parents and students alike, as it always did on the first of September. Many muggles looked over in confusion and bemusement at so many families crowding in between the stations 9 and 10, but never boarding either, unbeknownst to them the reason why or the hidden station three quarters toward 10.
Amidst the crowds stood two families, contentedly separated and therefore relatively out of mind from one another. There was the Light family, consisting of Gabriel, the eldest of the group at age thirteen, Uriel, who was close behind at age twelve, Sandalphon, who was eleven, and Aziraphale, the youngest and also eleven years old.
Aziraphale was a bright young lad with snowy-white hair and earthy grey eyes. He was wearing all-white wizard robes over his soft frame. He seemed eager to begin his first year at Hogwarts, with a bit of underlined nervousness. He glanced over to his brother Gabriel and cousin Uriel, both of whom wore scarves and ties striped with scarlet and gold over their light-grey blazers, as both he and Sandalphon were expected to don the same colors by this time tomorrow.
“It’ll be nice to finally start broom flying this term!” Sandalphon exclaimed out of the blue, trying to get Gabriel’s attention. “Bloody stupid the Gryffindor quidditch team has to wait another year before I bless ‘em with my skills!”
These so-called skills that Sandalphon mentioned had never actually been demonstrated or proven. He just liked to brag endlessly whenever possible in an attempt to impress his cousin.
“Well, we still don’t know if we’ll be sorted into Gryffindor! Much less be able to join the quidditch team.” Aziraphale exclaimed.
He clearly did not want anything to do with the sport, but that part of his argument was quickly ignored.
“You’d better!” Gabriel shouted, roughly grabbing the back of Aziraphale’s neck with his burly arm. “Or else we may have to disown ya!” Gabriel laughed at an outrageous volume.
Aziraphale chuckled nervously in response as he strained against the tight grip of his older brother.
“I’m just kidding, of course!” Gabriel finally let go, and laughed a bit more to emphasize the joke, but narrowed his violet eyes down at him.
“Now!” He said with a clap of his calloused hands. “Shouldn’t it be our turn to get on the train soon?”
-
Across the crowds stood the Fallen family. Beelzebub, the oldest, stood next to their younger sister, Dagon. Along with them were Hastur, with his pet toad resting on his shoulder comfortably, and Ligur, cousins to each other and the others. Finally, there was Crawly, who was quite tall for an eleven-year-old and had dark red hair that fell in waves down to her narrow waist.
The whole family seemed much less put together than the Light family, and all wore dark shades of grey, brown, or black. They seemed dirtier than the Light family despite the similarly high-class clothing they wore. They had odd, inhuman-like features that made each of them resemble various, swamplike animals.
One could easily assume that the toad on Hastur’s shoulder was also brethren, given the stark resemblance between the two. Hastur’s eyes were wide– his pupils seemed to blow out to such a degree that he had no irises and his sclera were barely visible in the corners of his eyes.
Dagon had silvery scales on her skin, and Crawly’s eyes were snake-like and golden with narrowly slit pupils.
Beelzebub was the only one within the group who had no such features– apart from their horrendous pubescent acne and unwashed hair, that is.
Rumors had buzzed about for decades regarding why so many members of the Fallen family had these features, but only a few knew the truth.
The booming laughter from across the crowd returned and both Beelzebub and Dagon looked over their shoulders, suspicious of its origin.
“Is that who I think it is?” Dagon let out a huff.
“Without a doubt,” Beelzebub replied flatly, not even taking the liberty to move their head.
“Who?” Crawly asked, only paying half of her attention.
“Argh, Gabriel Arcangelo Light!”
“Are you talking about the bloke that apparently single-handedly won Gryffindor the Inter-House Quidditch Cup last year?”
“You’re leaving out the part where he’zzz a total wanker! Along with that entire family! And the whole lot of Gryffindor!” Beelzebub went on. It wasn’t often that they lost their temper, but Gabriel was one of those people that could set an iceberg aflame with exacerbation.
“We'd better see some improvement on our house points with a new Fallen in Slytherin this year!” Hastur told Crawly. The sudden attention and pressure placed back on her caused her to step back before she quickly recomposed herself.
“Oh, of course! Of course, I’ll be the best Slytherin Hogwarts has ever seen!” An artificial grin was plastered on Crawly’s flush face.
Hastur harrumphed. “Maybe we can actually earn some respect back to the Fallen name, while we’re at it!”
The crowd began to thin as students were making their way onto platform 9¾. The Fallen children took their turns, one by one in order of age, making their way through the pillar and to the platform where the Hogwarts express was eagerly waiting for all the students to board.
Just as Beelzebub was going to lead their sister and cousins to the train, they heard an all-too-familiar voice grating on them.
“Well, if it isn’t the wart-faced loser themself!” The booming voice of Gabriel came just a few meters from the family.
Crawly was not expecting a confrontation so soon. She hadn’t even gotten on the train yet, but she could tell this whole family rivalry thing was going to nag on her the entire way to Hogwarts, there, and all the way back, where then she could hear a bit more raging on from her household during her break.
"Oh, don't mind us Fallen! Just passing through! But then again, at least you get to see what an honorable wizard is every term with us Lights."
Gabriel escorted Aziraphale and their cousins with his chest out proudly, refusing to make eye contact with a single one of the Fallen children.
"Ought to be grateful we'll give you that charity!"
"Honorable," Beelzebub’s tone was as low and dangerous as they could muster without exploding in an inferno of complete hatred. It was a tone that screamed power and wrath under a cool mask that could break at any moment.
"Is that what you call yourself, you oafish git?"
With this, Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks. He swung back around and thus began the verbal sparring match.
"As I recall, it was I who managed to score so many points in the Quidditch House Cup last year. Even after you had barely managed to catch the snitch, your efforts were utterly inconsequential!"
The younger cousins also joined in the fight by pairing off against each other. Hastur and Ligur fought with Sandalphon, about to turn physical at any moment with fists threatening to be thrown. Dagon and Uriel narrowed their eyes and stared menacingly, each daring the other to strike first.
All the while, Crawly had seemingly disappeared, presumably to get onto the train on her own.
As Aziraphale stood awkward and indifferent to the ceaseless fighting, he noticed the massive clock near the wall was about to strike at 11:00. He shuffled over to Gabriel and tugged on his long sleeve.
“Uhh, Gabriel?”
“Not now, Aziraphale!” Gabriel half-heartedly shoved his little brother away.
Aziraphale looked back at his quarreling family, then the train, then back to his family several times over before rushing away to the train on his own. Perhaps the train would be a more pleasant experience without them there anyway. He found a vacant booth to sit in and saw the still arguing lot through the window. Sandalphon had Hastur in a chokehold with Ligur pitifully punching at his side. Gabriel and Beelzebub were so close to each other, one could easily assume the two were committing another kind of passionate act if their mouths weren't very audibly preoccupied with their fits of shouting instead.
“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”
Aziraphale chuckled without properly processing what had been said, or that there was now somebody in the booth with him. He glanced away from the window, only to spot the lanky ginger across from him looking down through the window as well.
“S-sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale managed to get out.
She looked over to him, showing her golden snake-like eyes.
“I said, ‘well that went down like a lead balloon.’”
“Oh. Yes, it did rather…”
“Always overreacting if you ask me. Our families?”
Crawly tried her best to remain casual with Aziraphale. She was failing horrendously. Luckily for her, the boy sitting across from her didn’t fare much better in terms of social grace.
“I’m not even sure what’s so bad about what my family did anyway!” She continued.
“Well, it must have been bad… they’ve all been in Slytherin. Isn’t it what you do? Especially if it was enough to get you all sacked from the Ministry…”
Being the youngest of his own family, Aziraphale was equally as naïve about the truth behind their families’ rivalry and hatred for one another as Crawly. The newer generations were merely expected to inherit the hatred. Most of the children had, but Aziraphale was more open-minded than that. Or he at least liked to think he was.
“N-no offense… Err…”
It had occurred to Aziraphale he never caught the young Fallen’s name and wasn’t quite sure how to ask.
"Ah, what is your..?"
“Crawly.” She stated. “Anyway, I don’t know. I’ve been taught that the Light family was filled with self-righteous prats because they’ve all been in Gryffindor.”
“Now that is a bit harsh!” Aziraphale placed his hand on his chest indignantly. “I mean– sure maybe my brother can be a bit proud at times but…”
Before he could think of a proper defense, Crawly began to laugh, though she tried- and failed- to stop when she saw the lack of humor in Aziraphale’s expression.
“Oh, let me guess: they expect you to be a good little Light, be sorted into Gryffindor, be a quidditch champion who gets their house lots of points every single year, and then be a prefect and head boy so you can join the Ministry straight out of schooling! Is that it?”
“You– Oh, I suppose you’re right about that… Why even ask? Is your family the same?” Aziraphale leaned forward, his interest piqued.
“Well, just about that, only my family wants me sorted into Slytherin. That's obvious. And I'll never be in the Ministry of Magic, thanks to your family.”
Even though Crawly’s tone was impersonal, the boy couldn’t help but slink back in guilt by association at her last point.
The train whistled and steamed to indicate its near departure. Aziraphale and Crawly looked back through the window to see that their respective families had finally snapped out of their frenzy thanks to the sound of the whistle.
In a panic, they all grabbed the first luggage cart in reach without a care as to whose it was and shoved each other to get through the train doors. Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt behind his disappointment. Crawly felt no such guilt over his own.
“I just hope I get into Gryffindor! It’s been on my mind for months, what to do if I don’t, I mean, given that I would likely be the first in my family not to be…” Aziraphale confided.
“Yeah, I’ve been worried too,” Crawly replied. “Could get into a lot of trouble if I’m the first Fallen outside of Slytherin.”
There was a moment of pause between the two where they shared each other’s gaze. Mutual understanding. The train finally began to move, breaking their eye contact in favor of watching the train station disappear behind them.
“Would be funny if we both get it wrong, wouldn’t it?” Crawly offered. “If I ended up in Gryffindor and you in Slytherin?” She chuckled at her suggestion and looked back at Aziraphale hopefully.
Aziraphale laughed in return for a fleeting moment, but quickly stopped and his face turned serious.
“No! It wouldn’t be funny at all!”
Crawly shrugged at Aziraphale’s indignation before going back to staring out the window as the vast green landscape flew past them. Now and then, one of them would glance back at the other, but they did not say anything. They sat together, enjoying the separation from their families, their respective pressures, and the presence of the one next to them. In mutual silence, they just sat, stared, and glanced indefinitely.
-
“Anything off the trolley dears?”
The sudden sound of the trolley lady’s voice jolted both Aziraphale and Crawly from their trance, causing them to look over at her expectant glance. How long had it been? Long trips and staring out windows had the effect of making seconds feel like hours and hours feel like minutes. Aziraphale was a first-hand testimony to this– his family would drag him along during many business trips and missions throughout his youth. He didn’t mind, so long as he had a window seat and a decent book at his disposal, and he always had a decent book on hand.
“Uh…”
Crawly did not process what the lady said, as her brain was still slowed from her time being almost catatonic. Aziraphale, on the other hand, saw the cart full of snacks and immediately recognized what the lady was asking.
“Oh! I wouldn’t mind a couple of pumpkin pasties, one cauldron cake, and a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans if you please ma’am!”
He offered a bright grin throughout the whole exchange. After giving his order, he nudged Crawly to respond.
“Um, I’ll have a chocolate frog and some iced pumpkin juice, I guess.”
The trolley lady handed them their snacks, and they handed back the required sickles. She shuffled away to the next interested booth.
“Bit of a sweet tooth, I take it?” Aziraphale asked, opening one of his pumpkin pasties.
“I guess you could say that.”
Crawly casually opened up her chocolate frog, grabbing it to prevent it from squirming and leaping away as if she had done so a million times before. She then looked down at it for a moment with an odd expression. She acted as if the amphibious confection owed her money, or the candy had been replaced by an actual toad, or something else Crawly found equally repulsive.
In a quick, practiced motion, Crawly snapped the blunt head clean off its body and tossed it into her mouth. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, a neglected pasty halfway towards his own mouth, equal parts confused and disturbed at the whole exchange.
“W-well, what card did you get?” Aziraphale cared to forget the atrocity he just witnessed and tried to divert the subject. Crawly pulled the card out of the packaging to take a look.
“Michael A. Light” Crawly was not surprised to see the name Light on the card, but Aziraphale, strangely, was.
“She has a card?”
Aziraphale waved his free hand over to see the card for himself, which Crawly obliged so she could finish mutilating her treat. He was not expecting who he saw, but it made much more sense in hindsight. On the card was a middle-aged man, pale-skinned like Aziraphale, but with long brown hair and stormy blue eyes. He had momentarily forgotten his older sister was named after their infamous ancestor.
“Wasn’t he the one that helped defile my family name? He got every Fallen in the Ministry of Magic sacked, starting with Lucifer M.S. Fallen way back when?”
“Why, yes. Although, I wouldn’t have worded it that way. Did your family tell you about him?”
“Nah,” Crawly leaned forward and pointed at the description under his moving portrait. “It says so on the card”
“Oh,” Aziraphale turned it around and saw a blurb that Crawly had clearly paraphrased.
-
After Aziraphale had finished one of his pumpkin pasties and his cauldron cake, he moved on to his Every-Flavor beans.
“I can’t believe you even risk it with those things!” Crawly stated in awe and disgust. “I remember once, when I was about eight, one of my cousins convinced me to take an entire handful and eat them all at once. To this day, it's the worst mistake I've ever made!”
“Oh, I've had these my whole life! Have every shade, color, texture, and scent memorized to tell if the bean is actually edible or not!” Aziraphale took out a single, tan-speckled bean from the bag and inspected it intensely for several seconds before grinning and holding it up triumphantly.
“See? This one is sweet crepes!” He tossed the bean into his mouth and beamed even more brightly upon being proven correct.
“You’re bluffing!” Crawly scoffed. She scrambled to lean across the table and pulled out a bright red bean to show to Aziraphale. “What's this one, then?”
Aziraphale took the bean between his thumb and forefinger and looked at it just as intently as the last. Meticulously staring at the color and pattern, bringing it even closer to sniff it, he did all but taste the bean to figure out what the flavor was. Finally, he handed it back to the wide-eyed Crawly. “Fuji apple!”
“I swear by Merlin’s beard– if this is something like centipede or old scab-flavored, I’ll be getting revenge on my multi-great grandfather before we even get off this train!”
Aziraphale gave a shrug and hand gesture that said ‘go ahead.’
After some self-convincing, Crawly took the bean in her mouth and chewed very cautiously. Upon sensing the unmistakable crisp, fruity taste, her whole body paused in disbelief.
“No bloody way!”
Crawly quickly grabbed a few more beans from the bag and placed them on the table. On it went, Aziraphale deducing the flavor of each bean and Crawly taste testing. He was proven to be accurate nearly every time. Exceptions were made when Aziraphale suspected flavors such as “cat food” or “socks," and Crawly chose not to chance it, instead nudging it on the side of the table into what eventually became a small pile. Occasionally, whenever things had gone a bit stale to her liking, she took from the pile of gross flavors and threw the beans across the train car toward an unsuspecting victim, ignoring Aziraphale’s half-hearted protests.
Every now and then, there would be beans that were some shades of brown and gray, ones that smelled rancid, but instead of setting them aside, Crawly would pocket them. Whenever questioned, Crawly would offer Aziraphale only one response: “For later uses, ‘Ziraphale.”
-
The Hogwarts Express had finally arrived at the Hogsmeade station, and the students began their descent off the train. It had been a nice day. All of the days at Hogsmeade, at Hogwarts, had been nice for quite some time. Alas, the first thunderstorm in weeks was on its way, and it was going to be a big one.
The first years met up with the Keeper of the Keys. Thank Merlin, Aziraphale had managed to avoid the boat Sandalphon had boarded and met with Crawly on another.
By the time the boats took off and were over halfway to the castle on the Black Lake, Aziraphale felt a tiny raindrop fall on the tip of his nose. And then he felt another, and another, until more and more raindrops began to splash on the students and the river around them. Almost by instinct, Aziraphale stood up, taking hold of his loose robes and leaning over to cover Crawly with them as a makeshift umbrella. Upon realizing what her new friend had done, Crawly looked over to Aziraphale and gave him an awkward but grateful smile.
Aziraphale smiled back.