Not long after the Armageddon that wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale grow even closer and cross the line they've been toeing on for centuries.

"You've got quite a setup here. I didn't expect to be wined and dined for a lunch date. A little warning would have been nice, angel..." Post-Canon. One-shot. Aziraphale x Crowley.

Months after the 2019 Armageddon't, Crowley and Aziraphale are back to their usual routines. That includes desperately trying to avoid recognizing their feelings. But what happens on one special occasion changes things, maybe forever.

"Oh she's a nice one," Crowley said. "Doesn't need much. Little water, little sunshine. Just make her feel welcome." / After the end, Crowley accidentally moves into Aziraphale's bookshop, bit by bit. He starts with his plants.

Crowley looked up at that, his other eyebrow arching up to join the first. He would have put decent sestertius on all of eternity passing without him hearing those words from an angel's lips. But then, Aziraphale had always been a different sort of angel. It was the only reason he'd tolerated him so far.

Aziraphale did not ask for help. Never had, never would, not even after six thousand years of their little truce-slash-friendship. Not even when he most needed it.

Hermione is killed by Voldemort, and is now dead. Well, sort of. Turns out that death is a little more complex than she knew. Ignores epilogue and last 50ish pages of DH.