Disclaimer: has been done on chapter 1 already.

Crowley swore and kicked at the unresponsive Bentley again. For the past fifteen minutes, he had been a sitting duck in the woods, unable to get his Bentley to budge an inch. Maybe it finally decided that it needed fuel? No, that was preposterous. He'd been going just fine without any sort of petrol for years. There had to be another reason. Maybe it got sick of Crowley doing absolutely ridiculous stunts and tricks with it?

"Move, you piece of junk," he hissed (1). The Bentley sputtered in indignation but refused to do anything else. Crowley was now getting extremely frustrated. His car, his pride and joy, refused to do anything he told it to do, and he had no other way to get up to the bloody castle to go and tempt the Boy who Lived or whatever his fancy title was.

After eight more minutes of useless trash talking and venting, Crowley decided to go back to the old fashioned methods.

That was why he looked like he was trying to push a boulder up a hill when Aziraphale found him.

When the angel stumbled upon the scene, he couldn't help but wonder if his friend's sanity was intact. The car he was so fond of wasn't moving, and he seemed to be roleplaying as Sisyphus. He knew how much the other demon detested the Greeks (2) so he couldn't quite understand why Crowley was doing this.

Aziraphale leaned against a tree and watched in mild, detached, interest as Crowley struggled to force the Bentley to continue through the forest to the castle. Aziraphale lifted his head just a bit more, to see what was beyond Crowley. There was no path, so the angel wondered how Crowley was planning to even continue. Then, he remembered that Crowley could make the Bentley float if he wanted to, and then discarded that thought.

"Crowley," the heavenly (3) being said.

"Aziraphale," Crowley grunted (4). He further acknowledged the other with a nod of his head before he quickly turned his attention back to his stubborn-as-a-mule Bentley.

"That's not going to work, you know." Aziraphale glanced over at the sky; it sure was getting dark. Maybe he should have accepted the transportation that the headmaster so graciously provided? Nah. "No technology works at Hogwarts." He glanced at the demon quizzically. "Didn't anybody tell you?" he asked.

Crowley stared at him for a while. Then, he stared a little more. And a teeny bit more. Then, he exploded.

"What!" Aziraphale winced at the sheer volume. "Nobody ever told me that!" After a long string of curse words (in which Aziraphale occupied himself by staring at the sky and trying to count how many stars there were), Crowley finally seemed to be out of steam. He was panting from exerting himself. Mentally, Aziraphale applauded the demon. There were at least eighteen words he was unfamiliar with, and after being around Crowley for the past six millennia, that was quite a feat. He lazily wondered where the demon had learned those words.

"Well now," Aziraphale said cheerfully, "I think we had better get to the castle."

With that, he walked over to an interdimensional pocket and stored the useless Bentley inside. It protested half-heartedly, but aside from a few puffs of exhaust smoke to the face, it did nothing to deter the angel from shoving it into a space between dimensions. Crowley just watched on in frustration, anger quickly dissipating.

"Fine," he sighed. The demon cast one last miserable look at the rip in the air, then turned around and marched. Aziraphale had to walk double time to keep up with the (comparably) fit demon. Crowley seemed extremely distressed about having the Bentley away from him. Awkwardly, Aziraphale lifted a hand and patted him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, Crowley. I won't forget where I've put the Bentley. I'll make sure to remember where I've left it this time. And if I do, I'll miracle you a new one, just like before." That seemed to do absolutely nothing to comfort the demon.

"It's not that," Crowley muttered, hanging his head. "It's just that I'm wondering about what else they decided not to tell me." Though Aziraphale could not see his face, he was quite sure that Crowley had the enormous, sad, kicked puppy look on his face at the moment. Aziraphale decided not to point this out, as Crowley had kicked him out of his apartment for months the last time he had said something along those lines. Though he didn't really have any business being at Crowley's apartment, it was nice there. The plants, if nobody else, were quite amicable once you got past their extremely timid (Aziraphale used that word generously) nature.

"My dear, I am sure you'll be fine. How hard can managing a few students be?" Aziraphale paused. "Er… what wereyou teaching again?"

"Herbology," Crowley answered.

"That sounds nice." Aziraphale frowned as he recalled his own teaching position. "I'm doing Defense against the Dark Arts. Sounds dreadfully boring, if you ask me. Dark arts isn't exactly what I'd call simple to teach to a lot of eleven year olds."

"You'll have to teach the other brats too," the serpent muttered.

"Ah, right." Aziraphale decided not to comment on Crowley calling the Children brats. After his experience with Warlock's birthday, he wasn't inclined to disagree. After recalling the incident, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Did they take you off the apocalypse duty?" he queried. Crowley groaned and brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale blinked. What had brought that along?

"They sent Hastur to do it. Ligur is going to be watching me. They say they don't trust me."

"Well, you can't exactly blame them for that, can you? I think Gabriel is going to be taking over my end of the job." Aziraphale was careful to keep the distaste from his voice, though he was less successful with his face. "I think Michael is going to be helping him, but I'm not so sure about that. This was a last minute decision."

"The stuck up, heavenly telephone operator with the big and brainless lump of muscle?" Crowley snorted. "The Anti-christ will come running to Hell in a week." Aziraphale considered this.

"I suppose you may be right."

They continued on in a peaceful silence.

(1) How he managed to do this even if the sentence had no 's' or 'z' anywhere in it will remain a mystery to the world.

(2) It wasn't really their fault. It was just some extremely voyeuristic young followers of Apollo had come across him in a very compromising pose. How were they supposed to know that their leader was the one who tripped of a rock and went sprawling into Crowley? Greek 'mythology' had become quite a sore point after that little event.

(3) He considered himself heavenly, at any rate.

(4) How the demon managed to compress his name into a monosyllabic grunt Aziraphale would never know.

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Anybody who would look his way would see a scrawny little boy in a dark coat, holding a bird cage and having a small bag slung over his shoulder. He'd have a blank expression on his face, hair nearly hiding his scar, and he would have been looking around at the different station numbers. Most people would assume he was looking for his parents, and then move on. The boy's mother would come looking for him soon. Or if not, the boy's father would come back, proudly sporting two train tickets in his outstretched hand and a large briefcase in his other.

What nobody else could see was the short wand he kept in his pocket. They would not have seen the Archangel of healing walk the boy along the magical Diagon Alley, the Archangel of repentance following behind, trying to be involved but failing. They would not have seen all the magical knick knacks he bought, along with the whimsically titled textbooks and mystic items. They wouldn't have seen the interdimensional pocket charm that made sure the bag was able to fit in everything he bought, and they wouldn't have seen the two Archangels disappearing with a bright glow from their haloes.

But that was fine with him. The less he was recognized, the better. Raphael (1) had told him he was supposed to be a celebrity of sorts in the Wizarding World, for something he most likely didn't even do. It was absolutely ridiculous, but then again, he had seen stranger things in heaven.

Platform 9 ¾ would be right behind the barrier between platform 10 and 9. However, he couldn't really walk through a solid brick wall without any of the non-magical people watching. It would definitely arouse suspicion, a boy disappearing into what they would see as a solid brick wall. Looking around for other wizarding families would be his best bet, but that was even more difficult. He glanced down at his watch. He had about fifteen minutes before the train left.

A few quick glances around revealed only nonmagical people. This close to the train leaving, it was highly unlikely that any wizards or witches would be dillydallying outside of the train. Sighing, Harry walked up to the barrier, glancing around one last time. This would be the last of anything 'normal' for the next year or so, so he'd be looking forward to making the most of it. Okay, there really wasn't anything to make anything out of, but it had sounded fun in the books that Raphael bought him.

He shuffled back, feeling the cool sensation of the illusion passing over him. Nobody noticed him, and he was soon gone from Muggle London.

When he swiveled his head around, he was surrounded by families and pets and boxes and bags, and everything was in chaos. Some people were crying, others were waving to their children in the train compartments. In all the commotion, nobody noticed the green eyed boy slipping into the train. The sun shone on the bright red paint and his glasses as well, making it hard to see anything. Quickly stumbling inside, he blinked, trying to figure out where he was.

The compartment was nearly empty, except for two girls. They didn't speak with each other, though the atmosphere in the compartment made it clear that they were comfortable with the silence. One girl looked vaguely asian, with slanted dark eyes and straight brown-black hair. She had a cage with a large reddish brown owl in it, and was apparently very fond of it. The cage was decorated with shiny jewels (that looked quite fake to Harry) and other knick knacks.

A sharp contrast to the other girl, Harry noted. She had frizzy brown hair, and was quite short. Her brown eyes were narrow, standing out in her pale, round face. She held a book in one hand, and it was open on a page that Harry saw was entitled The Founders. He didn't particularly know what that meant, and he wasn't really inclined to find out.

This wasn't the ideal situation he would have liked to be in, but it was convenient. Uriel always told him to go with whatever was at hand. He'd be more likely to come across full compartments and likely have no place to sit if he went searching for other compartments now. So, he'd settle for the car with a lot of seats available, so he could stay away from the other two girls.

"Excuse me," he said. "May I sit here?" The two girls looked up at him. They were obviously intrigued. "This was the first empty compartment I found." Well, it wasn't a lie. He didn't go searching through the other compartments, but figured that he could make it sound like that.

"Okay," the first girl said. The other nodded, but quickly returned to her book. She seemed insecure around him, and he couldn't exactly fault her for that. Living around angels for most of one's life would have that effect on people. He even earned wings. It was highly unlikely that somebody could stand the effects of the heavenly aura without feeling the least bit uncomfortable.

"I'm Cho Chang." The other girl extended a hand out, smiling at him, though it flickered on her face for a short while. Harry nodded, and took the offered appendage.

"Hermione Granger," the other girl said nervously. "I'm going in first year. Are you a first year too?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm Harry."

Cho's eyes widened for a while, but she didn't say anything. Hermione smiled, and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Harry." She grinned. "What house do you want to be in?"

"House?" His brow furrowed. He hadn't heard anything of it from Raphael or Uriel, so he assumed they didn't k now either. It sounded interesting.

"You don't know the houses?" Hermione gestured for him to come closer, and she opened up a page in her book. He looked over the yellowing paper, mildly surprised to see four faces staring up at him. They were smiling, laughing, and appeared to be having a great time.

"Those are the founders of Hogwarts," Cho explained. "Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helena Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin." The last name was spoken as if Cho had bitten into a very foul tasting substance. "They created Hogwarts a long time ago, for magical people." She flashed him a smile. "Though I'm sure you've already figured that out."

Harry snorted. "Right. But what houses?"

"The four founders decided to create four different houses, based on personality and traits they themselves had," Hermione continued. "Gryffindor was for the brave and determined. Ravenclaw is for the smart and the studious, Slytherin is for the ambitious and cunning, while Hufflepuff takes in everyone else. At the beginning of the year, all first years are going to be put in a house by the Sorting Hat."

"A hat?" Harry was (with good reason) extremely skeptical. How could a piece of headgear decide where he was going to live for the next seven years? It sounded completely preposterous, but then again, he believed that people who sinned would get thrown in a gigantic prison that operated more like a city. He really wasn't in any position to not believe that a hat could place him wherever it wanted to.

"The Sorting Hat is sentient," Hermione insisted. "I read about it, and a few years after Hogwarts was formed, Godric Gryffindor decided that they needed a way to decide which students would go in which house. There were a lot of fights about it before, you see." Hermione turned the page, and there was a full page, colored illustration of the Sorting Hat.

"Mmhm," Cho agreed. "Which house do you think you'll end up in? I was sorted in Ravenclaw." She seemed immensely proud of this fact, as evidenced by her bright smile.

Harry considered the question. He was sure Raphael would have wanted him to go to Hufflepuff, what with the accept everyone theme they had. However, he knew he was more inclined towards Slytherin, or maybe even Ravenclaw himself. There was a slim change he would end up in Gryffindor, but he thought it was highly unlikely that he'd be put- Sorted, he reminded himself- in Hufflepuff.

"I don't know. Where do you want to go, Hermione?" He casually deflected the conversation towards the brunette, giving her a small smile. Her cheeks reddened and she ducked back down into her book. Eyes stared determinedly at the pages, not looking up.

"Um, I'd like to end up in Ravenclaw, or maybe Gryffindor," she mumbled. Cho smiled at her. Hesitantly, Hermione lowered the book and flashed a tiny grin as well.

"That's great, Hermione! I'm sure you'll be a shoe-in for Ravenclaw. But you'll do great in the other houses." The vile-tasting substance look was back on Cho's face. "As long as it's not Slytherin."

Now, Harry was interested.

"What's wrong with Slytherin? It's only for ambitious people, isn't it? What's so wrong about that?" Whatever this was about, it couldn't be good.

"Every single dark wizard or witch that has ever existed came from Slytherin." Cho looked distastefully at the description of the Slytherin house in the book Hermione was holding. "Especially the worst. You-Know-Who was one of Slytherin's best students when he was inn Hogwarts."

"Voldem-" Harry was quickly interrupted by Hermione, and a somewhat pale Cho.

"Most people in the Magical World don't say his true name, Harry," Hermione gently explained. "They don't like it. Names have a lot of power, especially when summoning people or creatures. It's dangerous for everyone. Summoning can be very imprecise, and speaking a name could easily summon whatever it was to anywhere in the globe. That's why not so many people choose to speak his name."

"Well, that makes sense," Harry muttered. But now, Cho was looking at him in renewed interest.

"Speaking of You-Know-Who…" Harry resisted the urge to groan. He knew what was coming next. "You wouldn't be Harry Potter, would you? The Boy Who Lived?"

Harry had two options. He could pretend to not know what she was talking about, or he could confess. Neither option was appealing. He'd have to come up with a very convincing lie to be able to pull of option 1, and option 2 could get him a lot of publicity and attention he didn't deserve or need. However, he felt that he could bear with the attention. he could always act like a complete prick in order to keep people away from him.

"Yes," he reluctantly admitted. "I am."

If possible, Cho's eyes widened even more, and Hermione's jaw dropped open. He grimaced; this was the exact reaction that he'd wanted to avoid. At least they hadn't started screaming or shouting about him. Yet. He'd have to be ready to make a quick escape.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "You're really Harry Potter. You're really him."

Harry grit his teeth. "Yeah, I think we established that."

"Well," Cho laughed, "this school year is going to be very interesting, wouldn't you think?" Harry pulled a strained smile.

"Yeah." Cho and Hermione both seemed to notice his discomfort.

"Sorry, but if word gets out, I think you're going to be bombarded by a bunch of people." Cho looked up at him after finishing her sentence. "But if it makes you feel better, we won't care. You're nice, and we don't mind if you're the Boy Who Lived or whatever."

"Yeah. You're our friend," Hermione stated boldly. Then, she seemed to realize what she had said, and blushed again. "Er, that is, if you want to be our friend."

Harry smiled, a real smile this time. "Yeah. I'd like to be your friend. It sounds nice."

"Then we agree. We're all going to be friends, no matter what houses you two are going to end up in," Cho said jubilantly. Hermione eagerly nodded, relief and a great amount of joy on her face. Harry noted this carefully; maybe she didn't have many friends when she was younger. With her sitting around reading all the time, it wouldn't be too surprising.

"Deal."

The door to their compartment opened. A smiling, stout lady pushing along a silver trolley. She beamed at the three young children. "Anything you'd like?"

"I'll take some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for the three of us," Cho said. Hermione made a move to stop her, as if she would rather pay for herself. Cho stopped her with a wave of her hand. "Don't bother. We're all friends, right?"

With their candy, they spent the rest of the train ride in happy chatter and laughter.

(1) Whom he secretly thought of as his mother (2). He had to desperately resist the urge to call him that in front of the other angels, because he knew how much it would humiliate his caretaker.

(2) Uriel was Dad, but only because nobody else would have tried to take care of him. He wasn't close to the other Archangel, but he had always felt a certain connection with him due to the fact that Uriel was the first to wander across him as an infant.

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That's the second chapter. Thanks to AirElemental101 for a review, and to Fassalla, FoenFyre, Seraph in Flight, MissMom, and panther73110 for putting this story on their favorites, alerts, or author alerts and favorite author. Thanks a lot!