It wasn't his scene, not his cup of tea at all, the Library, THE Library, the largest one ever built. He preferred the feasts, the political strife, the push and pull of the social scene, thrived in it. Even now he could taste fine wine lingering memories on the tip of his tongue. But there were no parties now, the rain had chased everyone inside, into shelter, and he'd been left to entertain himself. He sucked in air, flicked his tongue out to collect it, but there was nothing there to scent in the way of honeyed wine, just dust, dust and something better than wine.
He tracked through the shelves, unseen to the scholars in his jeweled and decorated garb, unseen because he wanted it to be that way. They were not his prey, not the exotic white-noise of scents he tracked, they didn't matter to him. The scrolls, parchment, books stacked up high, and he worked through this jungle of man's knowledge. His fingers brushed against papyrus and leather, felt the sin of understanding, the crisp bite of an apple in each touch. It filled his tactile memory, but he did not let it distract him.
He moved into the thick of the library, past the statues and workers, and he could feel a future of fire in these corridors, but he would be long gone before that.
No use to hang around without anyone to tempt, and humans, they could do the burning all on their own. Besides, he'd be consoling then, yes consoling.
He draws his fingers against soft white, leans down to breathe in the scented oils in curly blond hair and grins a glinting devilish smile. But all his smiles are devilish and glinting. Oh yes, consoling the bereaved, for Aziraphale would mourn the loss of all these books, all this knowledge, more than the loss of a hundred angels, If he'd only offered that apple to Aziraphale instead, oh what a different story this would be. Knowledge to a voracious learner, and that was why Crowley would let it all burn, wouldn't lift a finger to stop it.
It was so much better to learn things first hand, and he had every notion to follow the angel to the ends of heaven and hell to teach him what books could not. Aziraphale was his angel, his and one day not even the divine would stand up to the knowledge Crowley would offer him. He hissed into the shell of the angel's ear and smiled as Aziraphale rushed onward, away from him.
Aziraphale didn't know what he was missing, but one day, one day he would and Crowley would be there.