Aziraphale went into full panic mode.
"I beg your pardon! How did he run away? I thought he was supposed to be safe. What happened? Where is he now?", and then, because being polite is important, "Please."
Crowley wasn't quite sure what to make of this, so he looked over at the strange man who had just wandered in, and who apparently knew Dumbledore. He clearly hadn't finished speaking when had been interrupted by Aziraphale's anxious tirade. Crowley gave the angel a look and Aziraphale stopped speaking. It was touching though, how much he cared about Harry. Or maybe he just wanted to do his job well. Aziraphale was a massive perfectionist. They both looked at the man.
"He's been found," the man spoke quickly, as if worried he wouldn't get a chance to finish, "he's been found, but Dumbledore thought you ought to know. Sorry…I… should have said that first."
Yes, he should have. But Aziraphale seemed fine with it. He calmed visibly.
"No problem," he smiled, "I'm glad he's safe. Thank you so much…I don't think I got your name."
"Remus Lupin," the strange man said. He too looked calmer, now that the truth had been clarified.
Aziraphale invited Lupin in for a cup of tea, clearly trying to make up for his lack of hospitality earlier, and then started asking about Harry.
"So why did he run away?"
"Well, from what the minister said, Harry was afraid that he was going to be imprisoned for underage sorcery. He," Lupin stifled a grin, "well, he blew up his aunt."
Crowley had never felt so proud.
"Blew her up. As in exploded?" Aziraphale asked.
"Not exploded no," Lupin said, "she just floated a few miles, then the ministry sorted it all out. It was the evening, so she wasn't seen by any muggles."
"But how did he do it?" Even by Harry's standards, this was a bit of a drama.
"I don't think he meant to. He got angry, that's all. He is a thirteen-year-old boy after all."
"Yes, I see," Aziraphale and Crowley said in unison, both pretending they understood. But honestly, humans are confusing enough, and teenagers are ten times worse.
"But he's alright now? Back with his aunt and uncle?"
"No. His uncle wasn't pleased about the whole incident. He's staying in Diagon Alley for the time being."
"But why didn't Fudge tell us?" Crowley asked, "he knows we watch out for Harry when he's at school."
"I don't think the Ministry like it," Lupin sighed, "Fudge doesn't want people knowing that Dumbledore is providing the boy with protection that the Ministry didn't plan. He's paranoid really. Everyone knows Dumbledore would do a better job than him."
"Especially after last year, when he arrested Hagrid and Dumbledore and failed to catch the real culprit," Aziraphale added, nodding in agreement.
"I don't think Dumbledore himself was even told. I don't know how he found out, but it wasn't through Fudge, that's for certain."
They sat in silence for a while, contemplating, then Aziraphale started to make small talk with Lupin. Crowley listened, having nothing better to do.
"So how do you know Dumbledore?" was Aziraphale's first question.
"Well, I was actually working for him during the first wizarding war. He set up a sort of group, The Order of the Phoenix. We fought Voldemort. Dumbledore was an asset to those who were against Voldemort at the time. He, well, he understood him. He's good at that."
"Yes," Aziraphale said, thinking about Snape, "So who else was in this…Order?"
"Well, there was Dumbledore, obviously. Hagrid was involved and McGonagall. Most of the teachers at Hogwarts really. Harry's parents, James and Lily-"
"Harry's parents?"
"Yes. James was actually one of my best friends. We joined up together. Us, and…some others."
He tried to look relaxed, but Aziraphale had a feeling he was holding something back. He didn't press him. Lupin seemed like a good ally to have, and he didn't want to jeopardise that. He changed the subject tactfully.
"So, what do you do?"
"Well, I'm actually taking up a post at Hogwarts this year," Lupin replied. He smiled, adding, "it will be good to be back."
It was a nostalgic smile. Clearly Harry wasn't the only student who had found a home at Hogwarts.
"Which post?" Aziraphale asked.
"Care of Magical Creatures. The last professor, Silvanus Kettleburn, just went into retirement."
Aziraphale was quite frankly relieved. He had always worried about Kettleburn's many missing limbs.
"Well, I look forward to seeing you there."
They talked for a while longer, then Lupin left. At once, Aziraphale started pacing the room.
"So, they've got Harry hanging around Diagon Alley, alone! And they didn't even let Dumbledore know when he was wandering the streets, thinking he was going to be incarcerated or something. It's ridiculous!"
Crowley stood up too.
"It is angel," he said. Aziraphale's indignation was infectious, "the Ministry putting Harry in danger, cause Fudge is too afraid to admit his incompetent. And he came to the bookshop too, to tell us how great he's doing with his new security measures."
"New security measures," Aziraphale deflated, now just looking tense, "dementors. Literal demons, at Hogwarts. I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy."
Crowley didn't like to point out that Aziraphale wouldn't wish a papercut on his worst enemy. Although, he wouldn't wish those creatures on his worst enemy either, and that really was something. He racked his brains, trying to think of a plan. They had to make sure that Harry was fine, even just for Aziraphale's peace of mind.
"Diagon Alley's in London isn't it?"
"Yes," Aziraphale stared at him with interest. Crowley had a feeling they'd been considering the same thing.
"We could go visit him," he suggested, "just hang around, see if he's ok."
Aziraphale grinned.
"Well, I would have to find out exactly how to enter, but yes. We could go and visit him. In fact, I think we most definitely should."
…
Aziraphale found out how to get to Diagon alley by writing to Hagrid. Within a few days he had written back, and they were soon on their way. After finding the correct street, they started hunting for 'the Leaky Cauldron', which held the entrance.
"Where is it?" Crowley asked exasperatedly, earning several confused glances from passing shoppers, "I swear we've searched the whole street now."
"There's still a bit we haven't searched yet," Aziraphale said confidently, striding on up the busy street.
Right at the end, he came across a shabby looking pub, and looked up hopefully at the sign above it. It took a second, but the name swam into focus. The Leaker Cauldron.
"It's over here," he shouted back to Crowley, who had gotten bored and started making ten-pound notes appear on the pavement to see what people would do with them (an interesting philosophical experiment concerning human morality, but also highly entertaining).
Crowley reluctantly hurried over, and they went into the shabby pub.
The inside was gloomy, lit only by candles, whose wax dripped down the rough brick walls like stalactites. A toothless barman stood behind the counter, polishing glasses. Despite its slightly gloomy appearance, the pub was nonetheless well filled with people, noise and warm smells. Aziraphale waved politely to the barman, and weaved his way through the room, Crowley following, glancing with interest at the many bottles perched on shelves about the bar. At the back of the pub was a small courtyard, where the bins were kept. One of them seemed to have the hiccups and was belching out violet smoke at intervals. Crowley watched with fascination for a minute, then looked around at Aziraphale, who appeared to be counting the bricks on the wall.
"One, two, three, four," he muttered, then, "and I tap this here…"
He jumped a little in shock. The bricks were moving, twisting and turning to form a door, large enough for even someone like Hagrid to walk through. Through the door they could see a busy street, a kaleidoscope of colour and movement. Everyone there wore brightly coloured wizard robes, which interested Crowley, as he has always thought they were just something people wore at Hogwarts, a tradition of some kind. He remembered designing traditions like that in hell. The perfect way to make both children and teachers feel uncomfortable and bored. One of the cleverest methods of torture they'd come up with, apart from homework (Crowley sometimes felt slightly guilty about homework, but it had been Lucifer's idea, so he hadn't complained).
"Crowley?"
Aziraphale had stepped onto the street and was looking expectantly at him.
"Coming angel."
They walked along, looking from left to right at the different shops. Shops selling books and robes, owls and cauldrons. Finally, Crowley nudged Aziraphale and pointed. Sitting in front of 'Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour', clearly deeply engaged in writing an essay, was Harry.
"Hello," Aziraphale said.
Harry looked up, shocked. Then he grinned.
"Hello Professor Fell!"
They sat down. It felt very awkward, but Aziraphale ignored this.
"We heard from Dumbledore about your little adventure," he commented.
Crowley fought the urge to facepalm. His personal plan had been: go to Diagon Alley, check Harry was alright, preferably from a distance of six feet, leave. Aziraphale's plan was clearly: go to Diagon Alley, find Harry, chat for three hours, set up a security camera to monitor his every move, and preferably make detailed notes on what happened to make him run away from home.
Harry looked unimpressed, but he started to speak.
"Well, my aunt came over and one time at dinner she," he went red, "uhm…well I accidentally made her inflate and float away. Then I decided to run away from home, but the minister of magic found me and bought me here."
Aziraphale fought back a laugh.
"Honestly I'm quite pleased," Harry admitted, "this as a lot nicer than life on the run."
Aziraphale chuckled.
"Well, I'm glad they found you," he said, "I would have missed you in Defence Against the Dark Arts. You're a talented student."
Harry looked as though Christmas had come early. Then he nodded awkwardly, blushing.
"Thanks," he said nonchalantly.
Crowley decided Aziraphale had embarrassed the boy enough.
"Ok angel," he said, standing up, "we have to buy…some…books now."
Harry looked up in confusion but said goodbye politely. Crowley dragged Aziraphale away quickly.
"But I wanted to ask him where he was staying," Aziraphale hissed.
"Does it really matter? He's safe, isn't he?"
"That's not the point. I don't trust that ministry."
"Neither do I, but there is really nothing to worry about."
They headed back the way they had come, stopping only briefly for Aziraphale to buy another book on dementors. He came out of the shop looking puzzled.
"Man in there was raving about seeing a black dog, thought it was a death omen," he said.
"Wot?"
"There was a book on sale about death omens, divination, you know,"
Crowley didn't but he nodded at Aziraphale to continue.
"Anyway, the man looks at the front of the book, and asks what the black dog on the front was. The man at the counter said it was a 'Grimm' some kind of omen of death."
"Like a hellhound."
"Yes, it looked a lot like that."
"Probably is then. If you see one of them, chances are you will die pretty soon."
"I didn't think of that. Well, the man went completely white, and said he'd seen one of them wandering around in front of 'Quality Quidditch supplies, a few nights ago."
"Probably just drunk."
"Probably," Aziraphale said thoughtfully, "I mean, nobody has been hurt on anything recently, so if there was one it can't have been dangerous."
"I doubt it. Honestly angel…"
He trailed off. A strange sensation was filling the air around them. A cold, like a winter mist, engulfing everything and turning the land into a mazy, white wilderness. Aziraphale shivered. Crowley however was stock still. He knew that feeling. They both looked around.
The transformation on the street was incredible. Before it had been bright, bustling and noisy. Now, the streets were silent, people had hurried quickly into shops, or were cowering at the sides of the roads. The colour seemed to be drained, the light dimmer. Sounds were muffled, and the air felt still and eerie. And then they saw what was causing it.
Black, cloaked figures were walking up the street. They stood about half a metre taller than the average man, and they floated, like vengeful spirits. Aziraphale felt a strange sensation, a tug of pain in his chest he wouldn't have been able to find the words for. He knew what these were from the pictures in the thin, green book 'Protection Spells for all Occasions'. These were dementors. One glance at Crowley told him he knew what they were too, though in hell they probably had a different name for them, one that Crowley was trying hard to forget.
Aziraphale took a deep breath. He walked out from beneath the porch of the bookshop, into the street. Crowley followed a few feet behind. Hesitant. Uncertain.
Aziraphale raised his wand and thought as hard as he could about Armageddon. Now that he had done the spell a few times, it came more easily. He had tried with a myriad of different memories now, but this one was the strongest.
"Expecto Patronum."
The minute the silver dove appeared, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from Aziraphale's chest. The dementors backed away, floating rapidly down a side street, fleeing from the embodiment of Aziraphale's happiness.
Crowley watched. He felt nothing as the demons approached. That was what he thought of them as, demons. he had seen them in hell, he knew they roved the earth, leeching the joy from people, infecting them with unbearable hopelessness, numbness. Those things were a fate worse than death. They even affected the dead. Seeing them, Crowley could remember the screams and howls of the dead humans who had been trapped with them in hell. But worse than the cries of pain had been the silence, as one by one they gave up. On life and light and joy. But Crowley himself felt nothing. Because he was just like them. Cruel and evil, put on this earth to torment and destroy.
A woman jostled him, and his brain focused back on the moment. Diagon Alley was returning to normal, people cautiously leaving shops and braving the street once again. Aziraphale was watching, looking relieved.
"Harry won't have seen them," he said, "apparently they came out a few streets ahead of the Ice Cream Parlour. But my Patronus worked," he grinned.
"Oh yeah," Crowley forced his tone to remain light, "Super-Pigeon to the rescue," he said sarcastically.
Aziraphale just smiled again. Crowley knew it must be a weight off his shoulders, to know that he could protect Harry at Hogwarts now.
"Nice job angel," he muttered, as they turned to continue down the once again lively and busy street.
"They must have been sent to search for Sirius Black," Aziraphale said after a few paces, "letting them into a public place like this though. Unwise if you ask me."
"The Ministry will want to show that it's got the situation under control," Crowley said grimly, thinking that trying to control those demons was pretty much impossible. They did not have the Ministry's or the rest of the Wizarding World's, best interests at heart.
So that's chapter two, I'm going to try my best to publish new chapters regularly. Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are very welcome.