The First.

The Firstborn.

The First of the Four.

The First of all of the Lord's soldiers.

He was the Commander.

The Commander of them all. The leader of God's armies.

One seated on the Right Side of the Divine Throne.

The quintessential Guardian Angel.

The Eldest Brother.

Mikael; Michael; מִיכָאֵל; Μιχαηλ.

Who is like unto God?

St. Michael.

EL DE MAELPEREJI

The Archangel Michael.

Michael had remembered the look on his brother's face as he was cast from heaven when he was brought down into the pit by Sam Winchester. He remembered falling, Lucifer in the vessel of Sam Winchester, no longer in his grasp, but falling faster. Then, he remembered nothing.

A voice spoke to him. Unrecognizable, but oddly familiar.

"Michael, I will give you another chance. You will learn the lesson that Gabriel and Castiel learned."

Quite eventful, for nothingness.

Michael wanted to comply with the voice.

He just didn't know if he could.

He'd lost his faith since Lucifer was lost and Zie left.

"Achieving redemption is the goal. How and why is for you to discover. Learn from your sins rather than condemn yourself for them. I have faith in you."

Michael felt his true form overcome him. The nothingness started to disappear replaced by the vast expanses of space and time.

"Have faith, my son."

Mikael spread his wings, "I will, Father."

Draco Malfoy was a bit of a strange boy; not that his parents would ever admit to such a plebeian thing.

Born the heir to the illustrious Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy and heir apparent through his mother to the Noble and Ancient House of Black, Draco was of impeccable breeding with a handsome father and a lovely mother. He was very privileged and had water he wanted at his beck and call at his birth. His parents loved him, very much so, even though he was left to be cared for a house elf most of the time. The Lady of the House of Malfoy changing a dirty diaper simply wasn't done.

Still, his parents loved him above all else.

That didn't mean he wasn't a bit of a lonely boy.

He wanted friends.

He didn't know why, but for much of his life he couldn't help but feel alone.

Pansy just wanted to be the next Lady Malfoy.

Millicent intimidated him.

Theodore was annoying.

Blaise was good company, but also a crybaby.

Vincent and Gregory were to be bodyguards like their fathers had been for Draco's. They pretended to be dim since it was what their fathers expected of them; couldn't show up the future Lord Malfoy. Draco prefered them the way they truly were. If they were truly dumb as rocks, they would been a bore. Still they weren't the adventuring type.

Draco wanted a friend who'd go on adventures with him. He wanted a friend like Harry Potter. Dobby the house elf only fueled his idea of being Harry Potter's friend.

Draco just knew Harry would be a great friend.

It didn't happen.

Draco was a bit unsure of himself around strangers, having been alone most of his life, so tried his best to mimic his father in every way. His father knew how to handle others, but apparently it didn't work. He'd insulted Harry somehow, even though he didn't know why or how.

It only escalated.

Harry became a rival rather than a friend.

Harry found others to take on adventures.

Draco tried to not let anyone see how it hurt him, although he was sure his mother knew somehow. She was just like that. He supposed all mothers were, or at least most.

Little changed as he grew. His puzzlement over Harry Potter remained, until He rose.

Everything changed once He returned.

Draco noticed a change in his father. He noticed his beautiful mother appearing more and more stressed and strung as the days went by. He noticed a cruelty in his father he had never noticed before. He no longer thought of the Death Eaters as some grand adventure. Disillusioned wasn't even a strong enough word. He was sickened. He wanted to be things as they were when he was small. He wanted stories, and not the nightmare he found himself in. He wanted his parents back. The Dark Lord stole them from him. It wasn't long until Draco himself was his. He despised it, but he feared Death. He feared having to witness the death of his family. So, he complied with the Dark Lord's wishes.

He had been given an important mission.

Draco knew it was more of a punishment than a reward for his Father's failures.

He'd been tasked to kill Albus Dumbledore. Something The Dark Lord hadn't been able to do himself. Draco tried to fool himself, but he didn't know how a school boy would manage to kill the only wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared.

Draco hated himself for his incompetence.

He hated his father for his failure.

He hated the Dark Lord, but he couldn't disobey.

He was glad to be back at Hogwarts. It meant he was away from the Dark Lord. But he knew he was crumbling under the pressure of his mission. He'd taken to hiding from the other Slytherins as much as he could. Hiding in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had become one of his most used spots since no one ever went in there. The forbidden forest had terrified him when he was young, but now it provided him a quiet secluded place to think and walk without being disturbed. The Dark Lord had gone from prowling in the forest to his very home. His father had been arrested. His mother's life depended on his success. Failure wasn't an option.

Draco knew he was mean, spoiled, arrogant, childish in how he went about dealing with Harry Potter, but he knew one thing for sure and he knew he wasn't a killer. The Dark Lord had no space in his inner circle for a man who could not kill. It made Draco sick to his stomach at the very he wandered, careful to not go too far into the forest, and he tried to think of anyway he could get his mother and himself out of the situation alive. The only thing that came to his mind was to kill Albus Dumbledore.

He knew the Dark Lord expected him to fail.

His own mother expected him to fail.

No one believed him capable for murder. Draco knew he wasn't.

His father had always told him a Malfoy showing weakness wasn't a Malfoy at all, but Draco couldn't help but feel weak. He'd cried in a bathroom with a ghost trying to console him. He didn't think he could get any lower than that. Draco had just wanted to do what his father wanted. He wanted to make him proud.

As Draco walked through the forest, he didn't put much thought into his path. He felt himself drawn to somewhere deeper into the forest, so he continued walking. He didn't run into any centaurs or other unseemly creatures. In fact, he thought it eerily quiet, even for the Forbidden Forest. Still, he continued on.

He tried not to think of the Dark Lord.

Or his parents.

He just walked.

Draco found himself in front of a beautiful tree. There was no other way to describe the magnificent foliage in front of him. It was so different from the other trees in the forest, almost like it didn't belong there. Draco considered walking back to the castle, but his body moved anyway his hand outstretched. He touched his fingers against the rough feel of the bark. Then everything went white with a burning light.

Michael

Power filled him up, but it felt chained, restrained.

He stretched out his wings across the universe.

He was Draco Malfoy. He was a Wizard.

He was Michael. He was an archangel.

He had no siblings, and yet the eldest brother of thousands.

Michael.

Older than everything with God and Death as the exceptions.

The warrior.

Do not be afraid.

Draco.

Michael.