Author's Note: I thought I'd go ahead and shake things up for this chapter—but hush darlings, no need for alarm, it's just a minor shift in viewpoints. This one's written from Aziraphale's perspective instead of Crowley's, because hey, who doesn't want a better look into the mind of our favorite angel-turned-Ravenclaw? Shhh. Just relax and enjoy where the story leads you. All is well.

"Boo."

"Good heavens!" Aziraphale exclaimed as a sudden hand on his shoulder startled him from his reading. He dropped his spoon in surprise, splashing porridge onto the pages of his book.

"Honestly, Crowley, must you still do that? I'd rather hoped you would mature a bit over the summer," he huffed reproachfully. "Tergeo," he murmured, running his wand over the porridge-stained pages, effectively returning them to an immaculate state.

"Maybe if you'd stop reading at mealtimes, I wouldn't be able to sneak up on you so easily," Crowley retorted, swinging his legs over the bench and reaching past Aziraphale for the platter of toast. "And," he added as he slathered on jam, "maybe you would've noticed that they're handing out the timetables. Being the kindhearted person I am, I went ahead and picked yours up for you."

Aziraphale gave a little squeak and seized the parchment Crowley was holding out to him. His nose nearly touched its surface as he scanned it eagerly.

"Oh! Ravenclaws and Gryffindors have Herbology together at nine, that's nice. Ooh, and my Ancient Runes class is today, how exciting—"

"Speaking of Herbology, Az, we should get going if we want to make it before nine," Crowley cut in.

Aziraphale glanced at his wristwatch. "Oh my, is that the time? Yes, let's be off."

The storm from last night had vanished with the dawn, and the sky overhead was washed-out but clear as they trekked over the soggy grass towards the greenhouses.

They joined the fifth years filing into one of the upper level greenhouses and settled down at a table with Aziraphale's fellow Ravenclaw, a pallid boy with faded blond hair and watery gray eyes whom everyone called Chalky*. Fred and George ambled in last of all, and joined them at their table.

Professor Sprout began as soon as everyone was settled. "Welcome back, dearies!" she beamed around at them all from beneath her dusty brown witch's hat; "I hope you all had a pleasant summer and are plenty rested for the big year ahead of you!" Then she grew more serious, though her eyes remained sunny. "As I'm sure you are aware, fifth year is a big turning point in your magical careers—this is the year you begin to consider potential vocations, and, of course, you have the O.W.L.s in the spring. As your other professors will no doubt tell you, you will find that your workload increases significantly. I have great faith in every one of you, however, and I'm sure you'll all rise to the challenge!"

Sprout went on talking about O.W.L.s for several minutes. As she spoke, Aziraphale felt a tension building in his chest. So much work to be done, and so much riding on it—their whole futures depending on the accomplishments of this one year! He was relieved when she stopped at last, and introduced the project for today's class.

They'd be working with screechsnap seeds—"An easy enough task, but I leave it to my fifth years because screechsnap plants are very sensitive—does anyone know why?"

Aziraphale flung his hand into the air so quickly he almost hit Crowley in the face. "Because screechsnap is semi-sentient," he rattled off. "It is able to feel pain and pleasure, as well as move and generate sound—hence its name, screechsnap."

"Very good, five points to Ravenclaw," Professor Sprout awarded. "Now everyone, gather supplies from the station in the back and work with your tables to properly pot the seeds."

"We'll get the stuff," Crowley informed Chalky and the twins, and Aziraphale followed him with the rest of the students who were making their way to the back of the room.

"Here, take this," Crowley ordered, thrusting a burlap sack at Aziraphale. It was emitting a ghastly stench.

"What in heaven's name is in this?" he asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Dragon dung, of course," Crowley replied matter-of-factly as he scooped up pots and seeds and balanced them precariously in his own arms.

"Ugh!" Aziraphale exclaimed, holding the sack as far away from himself as he could.

"Just get it back to the table, Az," Crowley said distractedly, struggling to keep soil from spilling from the trays he'd piled on top of the pots in his arms.

He heaved the manure-filled bag dutifully back to the table.

Crowley wasn't far behind, and bustled about laying down trays and pots.

"Okay," he said, "Chalky, you pull out your textbook and read the instructions, keep us from messing anything up. Fred, George, you two spread the manure as Az and I lay out the screechsnap—don't pile it too heavily, though; the seeds'll be pretty vocal about it if you do."

"That's cool, Crowley, give us dung duty, thanks," George said, but he and Fred reached for their work gloves nevertheless.

"And don't even think of flicking the seeds about," Crowley warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred innocently.

The work went smoothly—more so for them than for some of the surrounding tables, where seeds that were being handled too carelessly let off grating shrieks. Professor Sprout reprimanded the members of one table, where unwatched seeds had begun an escape attempt and cascaded onto the floor, rolling every which way.

Aziraphale had never had Herbology with the Gryffindors before, and so was pleasantly surprised to see how Crowley took to his role as unstated leader of their table like—like, well, like a duck to water. He'd rarely seen his friend so focused on one task, his typical air of insouciance replaced by a cool intensity.

And, Aziraphale noted to himself, everyone had accepted Crowley's leadership without a word of discussion needing to be made. Chalky read as instructed from the textbook in his pale, whispery voice. Even Fred and George listened to him—though they also flicked bits of dung at each other and anyone else they could reach when Crowley wasn't looking.

"Az, are you daydreaming again? Let that seed go before it throws an all-out tantrum."

Aziraphale, jolted from his musings, looked guiltily down at the seed he'd forgotten he was holding. It was squirming in his grasp and groaning threateningly. He dropped it into a pocket of earth in a tray, grimacing apologetically.

When the period was coming to its close, their table had potted more of the seeds than any other, earning them warm praise from Professor Sprout.

She closed the lesson by assigning them a four-foot essay, and Aziraphale felt the tension in his chest return; Crowley's hand on his arm abated it a bit, and he did his best to shrug the feeling off—no use growing stressed about homework already, after all.

"What's your next class?" Crowley was asking him as they left the greenhouse behind.

"Potions," Aziraphale responded, "with the Hufflepuffs."

"Well, at least you'll have Newt to entertain you," Crowley remarked; neither of them were particularly fond of Potions, and especially of its professor, Snape.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. They both knew how dismal the gangly Hufflepuff was at Potions; Aziraphale would likely be spending every class trying to keep Newton from accidentally blowing the cauldron up. "I take it you have it with Anathema?"

"Yeah, later this evening. Right now, I've got Charms."

"Lucky you," said Aziraphale. Charms was one of his best classes. "Anyway, Herbology was significantly more enjoyable with you in it."

"Glad to hear that," Crowley said with a genuine smile. They'd reached the Entrance Hall. "Okay, I'm off to Charms, try to keep Newt from drenching his robes in acid the way he did that one time last year."

"Two times—he did that twice," Aziraphale corrected, and sighed. "I'll do my best."

They parted ways, one heading for the Charms room and the other descending into the chilly Hogwarts dungeons.

Footnotes:

*Despite having shared a dormitory with him for what was going on five years, Aziraphale knew eerily little about Chalky. He was grateful to have the bed furthest from him, as Chalky's part of the room always seemed to develop a stale sort of smell, and dust and grime tended to collect along it faster than the house-elves could keep up with.

Endnotes:

Did anyone notice Aziraphale getting his Hermione on? He'll probably do that pretty frequently; I feel there are a lot of similarities between the two of them.

Okay, but what I really want to do with this endnote here is to make it clear that I am very much open for suggestions of all kinds—exciting, right? I've reached the stage in this story where the chapter content will be very flexible more a while, so let me know if there's something in particular (a character, a class, an event, etc.) that you'd like me to include!

As has already been requested, I've begun incorporating the horsepersons in—hopefully you recognized Pollution here—so as you can see, I really will take your comments into account. There may be times, of course, when I'll have to decline your suggestions, because there is a main plotline that I am following here. Still, share your ideas and I'll see what I can do; I love to make my readers happy, when I can!